


The Outliers

by Atypical16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, F/M, Forbidden Love, Freudian Elements, Friendship, Hogwarts, Legilimency, Mental Disintegration, Mild Sexual Content, Occlumency, POV Multiple, Period Typical Attitudes, Professor Tom Riddle, Psychology, Pureblood Culture, War with Grindelwald, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 120,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atypical16/pseuds/Atypical16
Summary: It is 1945 and the staff and students at Hogwarts are anticipating Gellert Grindelwald's rule extending to the UK. Whether they are celebrating or panicking usually depends on their blood status. Usually - but not always.





	1. Farewell, Class of 1945

He wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone, but Hogwarts was where he felt most at home. He swore he’d never love anything, but the castle was on top of the very short list of things Tom Riddle, Head Boy and heir of the noble Salazar Slytherin, was fond of. 

Especially now with that old, love-blinded fool Dumbledore absent from the professor’s table. Hopefully he’d never return. Old Grindelwald was doing a thorough job of fueling hatred of muggles and instilling fear within Magical Britain. Now if he could just remove Dumbledore permanently, or for at least a few years, Tom would have a significantly easier time of making Hogwarts his—

“Tom?” Someone was tapping his shoulder. He turned to see the slightly anxious face of Alphard Black. “Where, erm…where are we supposed to be standing at the start of the ceremony?”

This Black, unlike his brother, sister, and cousin, was timid and passive, preferring to keep to himself. He had obviously caught wind of the Chamber of Secrets rumors at some point in the past two years, because he was at his most nervous around the Head Boy. Tom couldn’t understand why, as the boy’s pureblood status exempted him from any harm.

“Didn’t Messier go over it with you?” Tom asked him, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. 

“I, er…I haven’t seen her…”

Across the table, Felix Lestrange and James Avery were shaking their heads. They thought the youngest Black a bit of a dolt despite the boy’s academic performance. Neither of them, however, would say anything to him outright out of respect for his brother and cousin, Cygnus and Orion. 

Tom stood and scanned the Slytherin table for the other fifth-year prefect. He saw Messier One, the elder sister, trying to catch his eye, but he was looking for the younger. There she was next to the Fawley girl, scribbling away on a piece of parchment. 

“She’s over there.” He pointed. “I’ve explained it all to her.” Though she probably hadn’t listened to a word of it. 

“Thanks, Tom,” said Black, relieved to scuttle away. 

“What a ponce,” Lestrange muttered to Avery as Tom took a seat. Avery only nodded. 

Lestrange continued to speak but Tom tuned him out, ruminating over the letter he’d sent to Dippet that morning. He’d simply requested a meeting, but had he come off desperate? Was it polite enough, or perhaps too polite, so much so that Dippet wouldn’t place it as a priority? Tom had to know the answer now but he mustn’t get himself wound up. No, the letter was fine. For someone who loathed asking things of other people, Tom sure had a knack for getting his way. 

He still had to have a backup plan if the meeting did not end in his favor. All that was for sure was that he was never stepping foot in that orphanage again. Now that he was eighteen, he wouldn’t ever have to. But where would he go? No, he _had_ to convince Dippet—

“Excuse me, Riddle? What time’s the ceremony?” A Ravenclaw prefect now, shy sixth-year Edwina Boot. Tom preferred her over all the others, because she spoke even less than Messier and actually listened. She, like Black, was nervous around him, but it was not limited to him. She took a breath and let out a long, rambling sentence: 

“Longbottom’s saying it’s at half-seven, but I could’ve sworn Dippet said seven forty-five, and since we’ve got to be there a half-hour early, should we come at seven-fifteen or seven? Or quarter to, to be on the safe side, because if—” 

“It’s at seven forty-five,” Tom cut her off pleasantly. “Please be there at seven-fifteen and pass along the message to Longbottom.”

“Yes, will do,” she squeaked. “Thank you, and sorry again for bothering you.”

“Now there’s a girl with some respect,” Lestrange remarked as she dashed off. “Her face is rather unfortunate, though.” 

“Eh, we can just blow out the candle,” Avery chuckled. “Wouldn’t make a difference in the dark, would it?” 

“She’s a half-blood,” Tom reminded them, just to get them to shut up. That lasted all of ten seconds until Victor Mulciber leaned in and started in about the most recent game of Quidditch, which was at least easy to ignore. 

Tom looked around the Great Hall. What would it be like to have all these younger-years under his instruction? Perhaps like Head Boy duties except more responsibility. He could handle it; it was worth it if they were all under his control. Whether through fear or admiration, they would all submit to him—

All conversation, internal and spoken, ceased at once at the appearance of Head Girl Lysandra Bell. 

“Riddle, did you tell Boot the ceremony starts at seven forty-five?” She was furious, but she didn’t dare fully express it to him. To others, she was a force to be reckoned with, but not to Tom. She was not afraid of him but rather ashamed after his dismissal of her after their encounter two months ago. 

Now, however, she’d temporarily forgotten her shame. “It’s at seven- _thirty_. The prefects have got to be there at _seven_. Perhaps I should tell them quarter to? Since I’ve got to fetch them all again anyway.”

“Not to worry, Lysandra, I will tell them,” he said, smiling at her, knowing she still fancied him but that she couldn’t do a thing to catch his interest. She’d only been useful to him for one thing, and he’d gotten it already. 

“I—oh, alright then.” She was predictably flustered, unable to resist his charm. “Well, I’ll help. Please tell yours if it’s not too much bother.” 

She strode away with her head held high, but her freckled cheeks were still pink. Witches are so easy, Tom thought with a smirk. “Until later, gentlemen,” he said, rising from the table. 

He looked out for Alphard Black, but he must have left the Great Hall. However, Messier Two was still seated, scanning the tables. He watched her write something down on her parchment, biting her lip, as he approached. A second before he reached her, fifth-year prefect Melody McCready appeared out of nowhere and clasped Messier’s arm. 

“Oh, Merlin, Harper, I’m sorry!” she gasped. “I’ve gotten the time wrong! The ceremony is actually at seven-thirty, so we’ve got to be there at six forty-five.” 

“Oh, alright,” Messier replied, clutching her parchment to her chest. Tom briefly wondered what she was always scribbling about, but he didn’t much care. Doubtless nothing important, and it kept her out of his hair. 

“Oi—er, excuse me, Tom,” McCready said to him. “According to Antonia Longbottom, erm, the headmaster wants to see you.”

She blushed and looked away, but Tom was already walking out, eyes on the corridor. “Thank you,” he called, trying to keep his strides slow and his posture calm. 

Dippet _had_ to say yes. Who could refuse brilliant Tom Riddle? No, he hadn’t a thing to worry about, but still he could not keep his fists from clenching in anticipation. 

~

“Merlin, he’s growing more handsome by the day,” Mel was saying, taking a sip of Harper’s pumpkin juice. 

“Who?” Harper asked distractedly, taking notes again. She’d been watching Lysandra Bell, who seemed ready to wig out. _Stressed about ceremony but also something deeper,_ Harper wrote, _exacerbated by communication with HB._ There was a rumor circulating around Hogwarts that Riddle had rejected Bell’s romantic interest, but since there wasn’t proof, Harper didn’t add it. 

That’s who Mel was referring to, she supposed—Riddle. Many of the older-years in other Houses were beginning to fancy him. 

“What are you always writing about?” Mel asked, trying to peek at the parchment. 

This was hardly the first time the question was raised, as she wrote scroll after scroll for all five years of Hogwarts thus far, but over the 1944-1945 school year there had been an increase. After being forced to take a break to study for OWLs, she was now rarely without a quill in her hand. For her sixteenth birthday the past April, Mel’s family had given her a refilling quill. Now next to nothing held her back. 

“When is your family coming?” she asked, dodging the question as usual. 

“Well, see, I’d told them seven-fifteen, but that was when I’d thought the ceremony started at quarter to eight! I really hope they won’t arrive too late.” Mel grimaced, as if the worst occurrence imaginable was if her family arrived at the start of the ceremony. 

Harper beamed at her with fondness. She liked how Mel was overreactive to everything. Her ability to feel everything so viscerally was fascinating. “It’ll be fine, dear. I’m sure there will be many latecomers.”

“When…are yours coming?” Mel asked tentatively, knowing Harper didn’t like to speak or even think of her parents unless absolutely necessary. 

“I think Annie told them half-past,” she said, rolling up the scroll. She didn’t care if they were late; in fact, she was counting on it. The less time spent around them, the better. She wished this was simply a regular graduation ceremony, where they wouldn’t come at all since neither she nor her sister Annie were finishing this year. 

“I’ve got to get packing,” she said, standing up and stepping over the bench. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Mel nodded and headed back to the Ravenclaw table as Harper left the Great Hall. 

On the way to the dungeons, she ran into a group of Slytherin boys: sixth-years Cygnus and Orion Black, flanked by their followers Icarus Yaxley, Sequitur Delmont, and Felix Murdoch, all of whom were fifth-years. The group’s leader, Abraxas Malfoy, had preceded them to the Great Hall to catch a seat by the seventh-years. 

They all ignored Harper as expected except Murdoch, who grinned and winked at her. Not quite friends, he and Harper had collaborated a couple of years ago, so they had a general fondness of each other. Known as the King of Pranks, Murdoch’s devilish, clever stunts and good looks excused his half-blood status. 

Once in her dormitory, Harper found only Druella Rosier, who was not packing but sitting at her desk in front of her silver-pated mirror, brushing her thick blonde hair. “Oh, Druella dear, Beryl is in the Great Hall waiting for you.”

The other placed her hairbrush daintily in her desk drawer, eyeing Harper out of the side of her grey-brown eyes. The two witches never quite knew how to interact, because Druella viewed Mel and Annie as competition even though she was wealthier than the two put together. However, since Harper herself didn’t attract much attention, Druella knew it wasn’t a point to being hostile toward her. “Thank you, dear.”

On precarious high heels, she tottered out of the dormitory. Beryl Fawley hadn’t said a single thing about Druella Rosier, but neither of them were bright enough to question Harper’s motive, which was to be in the dormitory alone with her book. 

She set the scroll on the desk, took a seat at the creaky, wooden chair, and pulled out a thick suede journal, another gift from the McCreadys a few years back. 

Flipping to the section marked B, she carefully unrolled the scroll, stuck the parchment against the seam, and pointed her wand at it. Tracing the seam with the tip, she muttered an incantation, watching as the edge of the parchment sewed itself in. This way was easier than carrying around the whole journal, and she didn’t have to worry about allocating enough pages for each person. 

The journal was plain black, well-worn, and Harper’s most prized possession. Although she’d charmed it to say something else if the book opened, she’d written on the first page:

_Behavior Analysis of Students and Faculty at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_  
_© 1945 Harpalyke C. Messier_

After adding the page, Harper slid the journal back under her Potions textbook. She didn’t want to pack it quite yet, in case she had more to add later, which was likely. She wouldn’t be able to write in it while staying with Mel, so she had to jot any notes before leaving Hogwarts. 

There was, however, another book that Harper had to bury in the bottom of her trunk immediately. She hadn’t written this book herself, but much of the content in her journal was based on concepts described in it. It was titled _Civilization and its Discontents_ , written by a muggle “neurologist” by the name of Sigmund Freud. Harper hadn’t an idea what a neurologist was, but after reading the book, she’d gleaned that Freud had studied the human mind and how people behaved, unlike any Healer she’d ever heard of. 

Though the studies weren’t completely far-fetched to the wizarding world, Harper could face a large headache at minimum if another Slytherin found her in possession of a muggle book. It was for this reason she kept it strictly under her mattress or in her trunk. As risky as it was to have it at Hogwarts, any reaction of a Slytherin would pale on comparison to her father’s if he found it at their house. 

After burying it safely in a pair of robes in her trunk that no longer fit, she pulled out her dress robes and changed into them. Swiping Druella’s hairbrush—so far Druella hadn’t noticed any straighter, darker hairs between the teeth—she fixed her hair and debated on whether to put on the berry stain Beryl Fawley had given her, proclaiming it looked better against porcelain skin than olive. Harper eventually decided not to, as she didn’t wish to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. Makeup was more Mel’s concern anyhow. 

The beauty ritual had taken only 20 minutes, so Harper was rather early to the Great Hall. The ceremony didn’t start for another hour, so she approached Lysandra Bell and asked what she could do to help prepare. 

“Oh, erm…” Lysandra said distractedly, her eyes on the list of families assigned to each table. The tables had been slightly enlarged along with the Great Hall itself; the benches had been transformed into individual purple velvet chairs lined neatly at the white-clothed tables. “You can help Edwina decorate.”

She pointed to the tall figure of Edwina Boot, who was conjuring brightly-colored, heavily perfumed flowers. “Oi, Edwina! This is not a garden. Try lilies and roses, will you?”

Edwina mumbled a response that Lysandra paid no attention to, for Tom Riddle had waltzed in, an unusual satisfied grin on his face. “My, Lysandra, you sure have a knack for decoration,” he said smoothly as he passed them, heading toward the Black brothers. 

Lysandra blushed and let out her own pleased smile, although he already had his back turned, giving Alphard Black instructions on where to direct the younger-year boys. 

Feeling a bit like she was intruding on something, Harper excused herself to go help Edwina, who was now joined by Florence Bones, the fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect. 

Only a wave of her wand later, Harper spotted out of the corner of her eye her sister Annie, and she wasn’t alone. On either side of her, their parents, Charles and Euporie strode in, dressed far more regally than the occasion called for. Euporie was even more stunning than usual in a mint-green gown of silk and lace that complemented her olive skin and black spiral curls that she’d passed straight to Annie. Harper had her father’s fair skin and bone-straight brown hair, which wouldn’t hold a curl if she pinned it up for a week. Charles was dressed in hunter green robes, not a hair out of place. 

Harper could afford a few moments of pretending to be busy, fussing with the bouquets and adding more bows and glitter until Lysandra tried to gently suggest that perhaps there was too much, though it came out as more of a bark. This, unfortunately, caught the attention of Annie, who waved her over. 

“Ah, Harpalyke!” her sister cried in that falsely sweet voice she used around her parents. No matter how hard she tried, Harper could never muster up enough enthusiasm for that pitch. “Mum and Dad are here!”

 _I have eyes, dear sister,_ Harper wished to say but of course she did not. “Hello, darling,” Euporie simpered, giving her a wide smile. 

“Merlin, girl, you’re getting big,” were the first words out of her father’s mouth. “You’ve got to get your figure under control. Ananke, why aren’t you teaching your sister to stay active? All of that sitting and reading is sure catching up to her bottom.”

Annie opened her mouth to reply, but luckily, Charles kept talking. “Did you hear I’ve gotten promoted to Head of the Treasury Department?”

“Yes, Annie told me,” Harper said, forcing a smile, hoping that would turn the attention back onto her sister. It worked, but a look of annoyance passed over Annie’s face. 

“My name is Ananke,” she said smarmily, and Harper knew she was only placating her father, since she didn’t care about being called Annie on a typical day at Hogwarts. “We must remember our proper wizarding names, dear sister. Annie is a common muggle name.”

“That’s right,” Charles cut in. “Remember your place at the top of the hierarchy.”

Harper was saved from having to form a response by the sudden appearance of Mel by her side. “Oh, hello, Melody!” Euporie cried, grasping her hands, relieved at the abatement of tension. 

Behind Mel were two rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed faces that Harper was as happy to see as her best friend: Donald and Angela McCready, Mel’s parents. 

“Hello, Messiers!” Angela greeted exuberantly, pulling Euporie in for a kiss on the cheek and disregarding Charles’ sudden unease. 

~

The relief on her best friend’s face was palpable. Mel knew that Harper’s father was about to lay into her about something and was grateful for her parents’ intervention. Mum was good at using her foreignness to her advantage, doing away with stuffy English formality. Mel had a feeling that Charles Messier only tolerated them for this reason. 

After everyone was properly greeted, Dad turned to Harper. “Mind showing us where we’re sitting? Mel says you’re in charge of that.”

Mel had said no such thing, but after five years of interacting with the Messiers, he was well-trained in diversion. “Yes, follow me,” Harper said quickly, stepping away from her parents. 

As she led them to the far side of the Ravenclaw table, Mel could hear the quieting of voices on the right side of the Great Hall, where the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff families were starting to take their places. With a knot of dread forming deep in the pit of her stomach, she hoped her parents would be too delighted with the abundance of food to notice. 

No such luck—Mum let out a sigh as they took their seats, looking at the cutlery with a glum expression. “Everyone knows now, I reckon.”

Mel couldn’t disagree; it had been in the Daily Prophet the previous week. No one had said anything to her directly, but she’d felt a slight chill coming from half the student body and even Professor Merrythought. Not many wanted to associate with a family that clearly churned out followers of Grindelwald’s Magic Army. 

None of the other McCreadys had known of Walden’s desire to join the Army. He’d never spoken of it. Mel had thought their relationship was close enough that he wouldn’t keep such a close secret, but apparently she’d been mistaken. She hadn’t a clue of his political views until he ran off with a group of boys that were notorious Grindelwald supporters: Sergei Dolohov, Percival Reilly, and, now the leader of the Magic Army, Alexander McElroy. 

That damn Daily Prophet, Mel thought grumpily as she rose and excused herself from her now subdued parents to help Edwina, Lysandra, and the sixth-year prefect Achilles Longbottom guide the first and second-year Ravenclaws to their designated spots. Henry Higgins, Mel’s counterpart, passed around candles and urged them to touch the wicks together to spread the fire. Those with unlit candles were using them as pretend wands, forbidden to use their real ones. Garret Finch was heavily reprimanded for using his candle as a drumstick against the edge of the staff table. 

Over at the Slytherin table, there was a slight spot of bother: third-year Otylia Masiakiewicz had told her family to sit in Felix Murdoch’s family’s seats. Herbert Murdoch, a high-ranked Ministry official, was patiently explaining to her family, who evidently spoke no English at all, that he belonged there and their seats were further down, while Masiakiewicz stood next to the Slytherin flag with her hand over her mouth, suppressing laughter. Felix Murdoch gave her an approving glance; she was moving up in the ranks of first-class pranking. 

Sitting next to Druella Rosier’s swotty family were the Messiers. Druella was glaring out of the side of her eye at Annie, who was first-ranked of pretty girls at Hogwarts, depending on who was asked. While Druella was a wealthy Sacred 28, Annie was better at lessons. Harper often scoffed at the competition. 

Harper, who didn’t seem to give a toss that Walden McCready followed Grindelwald, caught Mel’s eye, smiled, and jokingly pulled a face as if saying _get me out of here._ Lysandra dismissed the rest of the prefects to their seats, joining Riddle at the front. The pair stood on each side of the podium. She signaled for the choir to begin as Headmaster Dippet, who was over 250 years old and looked it, ambled gingerly across the stage. 

When he arrived at the podium around ten minutes later, he began his speech. Apparently vocal chords remained steady for centuries, for Dippet’s voice rang clearly though the Great Hall without need for an amplifying charm. 

“Good evening students and families,” he said, raising his arms. “Welcome to the first Farewell Ceremony in three years. Unlike previous ceremonies, we’ve opened it to all Hogwarts families, not just those of graduates, to celebrate what we hope will be the end of the Great Wizarding War.”

He gave a slight cough and reached for the goblet on the podium but it must have been empty, for he frowned at it, peering inside. 

Without a word, Tom Riddle stepped onto the stage and pointed his wand inside the goblet, conjuring a splash of water from the tip before assuming his place. Lysandra threw him an open look of resentment as he stared straight ahead, ignoring her. 

“Thank you, dear boy,” the headmaster said, licking his lips. Gripping the podium for support and leaning in, he continued his speech. 

“After the Manchester Massacre, Albus Dumbledore has decided that Magical Britain must take a stand against Gellert Grindelwald and has vowed to defeat him, and end his rule of terror. We at Hogwarts have complete faith that Dumbledore, and by extension all of Magical Europe, will come out the victor. Grindelwald and his army must be stopped. They are ruthless, dangerous, and intent on seizing power.”

Sensing her parents’ discomfort, Mel reached across her lap and took her mother’s hand. She wished she could somehow absorb all the pain and shame and deal with it on her own. Her parents had been given enough strife by this war. 

“We light these candles in honor of the victims of the Manchester Massacre. Please give a moment of silence for the 15 wizards and 32 muggles that lost their lives on the 22nd of April 1945.”

Now it was impossible to ignore the glares before everyone silently inclined their heads. Mel hadn’t an idea if Walden had been involved in the Manchester Massacre—she hoped with all her heart he hadn’t—but it had occurred not even a fortnight after his departure. Most of the Magic Army had evaded capture. 

Thankfully, after the moment of silence, the cheerful phase of the ceremony began: the seventh-years lined up on both walls of the Great Hall—Slytherins and Ravenclaws on one side, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs on the other—to receive diplomas. The cheers for Riddle were noticeably the loudest, earning him another glare from Lysandra. Felix Lestrange and Victor Mulciber were close runners-up, despite the pair of them being, in Mel’s opinion, insufferable prats. 

Then, blessedly, the food appeared and all ill feelings subsided, replaced by excitement. Mum withdrew her hand to push one of Mel’s loose curls over her shoulder. “Another year finished. Perhaps the next is when you’ll fall in love.”

Mel smiled and shrugged. She hadn’t an idea of anyone she’d ever fall in love with. She was attractive and had decent marks, but Walden’s departure had sunk the McCready reputation in the mud. “Perhaps I’ll work for the Ministry,” she said, though truthfully, she did want a husband or at least a relationship by the end of seventh year.

Mum beamed at her and squeezed her arm. “Do what your heart says, my dear girl.” Without further ado, they dug into their plates and savored the rich flavors, for it could be a while since they’d enjoy such a hearty meal again. 

~

Alphard didn’t understand why his entire family had to show up, considering none of the Blacks at Hogwarts were graduating: Lucretia and Walburga had finished the previous year, Cygnus and Orion’s turn would come the next, and Alphard still had another two years. 

He did suspect, however, that this ceremony was yet another outlet to show off their status, along with the Avery, Lestrange, Malfoy, and Mulciber families. Situated between Orion, who was miserably stuck next to Walburga, and Cygnus, who was flirting with Druella Rosier, Alphard was resisting the urge to sink his face into the bowl of crab chowder in front of him and drown himself in it. 

“The old coot, trying to tell us the war’s over,” Abraxas Malfoy said in reference to Headmaster Dippet. “He thinks Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald? Please.”

Blonde, wealthy, and pompous, Abraxas was the son of Cassius Malfoy, Head of the Magical Education Department. Despite that, Abraxas took his own education as a giant joke, preferring to romance Slytherin witches instead. How he managed to get all Es and As in his lessons, Alphard would never understand. He resented Malfoy for studying one-eighth the amount he did, but it was fortunate that Malfoy was a year ahead of him, so contact was minimal. 

“Can’t believe that half-blood McCready joined up with him,” Felix Lestrange was saying. “Evidently had to compensate for his own inferiority.”

Alphard turned his head slightly toward the Ravenclaw table. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Melody McCready, the prettiest witch in their year, sitting with her parents. Her mother, a muggleborn, was from Austria or somewhere, an outcast in Wizarding Britain. The family looked miserable; Walden McCready, former Ministry worker, had joined the Magic Army not three months ago. 

“Wouldn’t mind spending some time with his sister,” James Avery remarked as Alphard tried not to glare at him. 

“She’s a _half_ -blood,” Lestrange hissed, pulling a disgusted face. There was an empty seat between him and Mulciber. Alphard wondered vaguely for whom it was reserved. 

This was answered about ten minutes later when Tom Riddle appeared and took the seat. Immediately the expressions of the surrounding boys save for Alphard changed into that of admiration. 

“Welcome back, mate,” Lestrange said fondly as Avery emptied a bottle of mead into Riddle’s goblet. 

Riddle, who was neither wealthy nor a pureblood, was the unspoken leader of all the Slytherin boys. Handsome with prodigious magical skill, everyone fell over themselves trying to earn his attention. That hadn’t always been the case—for the first five years of his Hogwarts education, Tom Riddle was simply a filthy mudblood orphan. The central question was, how on Earth did he get sorted into Slytherin? Then, two years ago, the rumors about the Chamber of Secrets had begun…

Riddle’s dark eyes met Alphard’s, and Alphard realized he’d been staring at him with an undoubtedly unflattering expression. Quickly he looked down at his plate and shoved a spoonful of chowder into his mouth. 

“What do you plan on doing after Hogwarts?” Malfoy asked Riddle. “My father can get you in the Ministry with a snap of his fingers.” Next to him, Cassius Malfoy was laughing with Alphard’s father, Pollux, as they shared stories of dolts in their respective departments.

“Hmm, I’ve got an idea already,” Riddle replied with a secretive smirk. Despite following his every move, Malfoy and the rest of his cohorts never knew what he was going to do next. Perhaps he was going to join the Magic Army and aid Grindelwald in defeating Dumbledore. Every Slytherin knew of the Transfiguration professor’s bias against Slytherins, particularly of Riddle even before the Chamber of Secrets incident. Riddle had claimed it was because Dumbledore was intimidated by him, but a valid reason for that had never reached Alphard’s ears. 

Alphard leaned over and asked Cygnus, “You reckon Dumbledore would beat Grindelwald?” 

“Merlin, no,” Lestrange butted in, mouth full of food. “He’s got no chance.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Cygnus added. “Grindelwald is much more powerful.”

“Yes, but Dumbledore is brilliant, too,” Alphard pressed. “Surely that plays a role in dueling?” 

He realized Riddle was looking at him with narrowed eyes but he didn’t speak. Lestrange shook his head. “You think Grindelwald isn’t? One doesn’t take over almost all of Magical Europe with an empty head.”

“I know that,” Alphard replied hastily. “I’m only saying—” 

“Don’t worry about it, brother,” Cygnus interrupted, clapping him on the back. “No matter who wins, the purebloods will remain on the top.”

That was not what Alphard was concerned about. He knew those who held the gold and galleons always came out on top. His question was, what would happen to everyone below? Grindelwald’s plans were concerning as well: the “cleansing” of muggle-relations. The Daily Prophet painted a gruesome picture of what was happening on the Eastern front. So far, largely due to Dumbledore, the Magic Army had left Great Britain alone, excluding the Manchester Massacre. What if Grindelwald did defeat Dumbledore? What would stop him then? 

Alphard suspected that his summer was going to start off on tense footing as he scoured The Daily Prophet each morning for news of Dumbledore’s outcome.


	2. London, Center of Woe

The McCready family resided on Meeker Street in a not-so-nice area in London. The building next door had been blown apart by a bomb and the one after that was ready to crumble. 

The muggle owners of their building had evacuated in ’43, but since the McCreadys were much safer in their basement flat than anywhere else, they saw no reason to leave. “Both wars will be over soon,” Angela McCready assured everyone. Her husband, who went by Donnie, placed an enchantment on the flat that the Ministry claimed would protect them, but no one quite knew if it would withstand a bomb since it was only implemented five years ago. 

When Mel had first brought Harper around in the summer of 1942, between their second and third year, she’d been terribly anxious that the pureblood, middle-class girl would not wish to associate with her anymore. When Donnie was leading the two twelve-year-old girls down Meeker Street, Harper had been taking in the scene with wide eyes. She didn’t speak until they were in the McCready’s flat, which thankfully looked a bit better than the street, except their few possessions were old and shabby. The wallpaper peeled, the stove was rusty in some places, and the linens were starting to yellow. 

After that first supper, after Harper had gotten acquainted with Donnie, Angela, Walden, and Angela’s sister, Mel’s Auntie Bertha, Mel asked her tentatively if she was enjoying her stay. 

“Oh yes,” Harper had responded thoughtfully. “Tell me, is your family always this happy, or were they putting on a show?”

She had a way of asking things outright that others would’ve considered nosy, but Mel knew by then that the girl was simply curious about everything. “Yes, I suppose,” she had answered. 

Their first supper of summer 1945, however, was not looking like a happy affair. Walden’s empty chair glared at them from the corner, where Auntie Bertha had roughly shoved it before they took their seats. Mum’s meal of bratwurst and potatoes was delicious, but Mel knew how much it must’ve cost, which was doubtless occupying Dad’s mind, that or Walden. 

There seemed to be a chill exchanged between Mum and Auntie Bertha, but Mel couldn’t be certain why. Auntie Bertha was in a foul mood, according to Mum, because she was terribly worried about their friends back in Austria, if they were alive. Awful stories were constantly being told on the radio, stories that made Mel sick to her stomach. 

She didn’t dare speak of it to Harper. Not that she didn’t trust her, but because her best friend could never relate to what was happening in the muggle world. Harper’s mother, Euporie, was a descendent of the Selwyns, a pureblood family listed as the “Sacred 28.” Her father, Charles, was high-ranked in the Ministry. Not wealthy, but the family was certainly not suffering from the ration system. 

After a cake with fruit, which was mostly unsweetened bread due to the shortage of fruit and sugar, Mel and Harper helped Mum wash the dishes while Auntie Bertha took a seat at the sewing machine. There she would sit until bedtime, for sewing helped her relax after working all day at the factory. Mum, who did not go to work and thus all the domestic duties fell to her, was relieved of making the family’s clothes and linens. 

Harper always snuck a fascinated peek at the machine, how Auntie Bertha’s hands effortlessly glided the fabric through. “Haven’t you got one of these at home?” Auntie Bertha had asked her once. 

Harper had shaken her head. “No, madam.”

“Who makes your clothes, then?”

This had stumped the girl. “The lady at the shop, I suppose.” Sometimes, the differences between the two girls’ lives were glaringly obvious. 

Other times, like tonight, it was hardly perceptible. Harper never minded helping out, which Aunt Bertha liked to take advantage of. “Hand me that cloth there, girl, yes, the checkered one. Take out those pins, will you? Lay them flat over here…”

“Alright, Bertha, let the girls settle in a bit,” Mum told her, drying her hands on a frayed dish towel.

Aunt Bertha shot her a glare. “We cannot all raise our wands and wave our problems away, sister.”

“Bertha—” Mum started, but Auntie Bertha cut her off with a sharp sentence in German. Mel understood enough to discern the words “spoiled” and “lenient.”

“Girls, let’s get started on the washing, and then we’ll put on a record and play cards, shall we?” Mum suggested, clearly trying to avoid a family feud in front of their guest. 

“Yes, Mum,” Mel said as Harper nodded in agreement. 

The yard was simply a concrete slab between their building and the ruin of the next, but it was large enough for the basin and line for washing. Mum used a scrubbing spell on the clothes, Mel wrung them out, and Harper hung them on the line as they chatted about Auntie Bertha. 

“She’s very stressed,” Mum explained. “We thought that, with the end of the muggle war, things would return to the way they were.”

Harper, under the assumption that “things” referred to money, said quickly, “My mum shall send the parcel first thing tomorrow. She says to let her know if you need anything more and she’ll be happy to send it.”

Mum beamed at her. “Don’t worry, dear girl. Her parcels are wonderful as is. We’re simply thrilled to have you here.”

Harper bit her plump bottom lip, skeptical. She’d confessed to Mel that she wondered if the parcels were worth the burden of feeding and housing the girl for half the summer. Mel had assured her that they were. What she didn’t tell her was that the Messiers’ parcels sent better nourishment in two months than in the remaining ten.

“No, Bertha is worried about something else,” Mum continued. “She says the war is still going on at home, and she knows not the fate of many old friends and family.”

Mel wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with the muggles in Eastern Europe other than soldiers called Nazis were “rounding them up and shoving them on trains to death camps.” Mel shuddered at the thought of what went on in these camps. Were they murdered with those gun things, or even worse? 

“She also, in part, blames me for Walden, I think,” Mum said softly, bringing Mel away from her horrid imaginings. 

The two girls paused and looked at her in outrage. “But that wasn’t your fault,” Mel cried. “None of us had any idea he was going to run off and join the Army.” 

Mum looked away, a rueful expression crossing her face. “I should have known.”

“It’s impossible,” Mel insisted, turning her frustration on the bed sheet, wringing it with rigor. Beside her, Harper was surveying quietly. Mel knew she wasn’t quite sure how to behave, as her family didn’t speak as openly as Mel’s. 

Later that evening after the adults had retired, Mel and Harper snuck upstairs to the owner’s flat. They were forbidden to go there, but it had more room and privacy than the basement. There, the girls could play cards, sing, and look out the much larger windows and watch the streets without Auntie Bertha hollering at them to shut up because she had to rise at 4:30. 

It was stifling hot up there, but if they poked their heads out of the bare, shrapnel-shattered window, they could catch a breeze. Mel had a section of Harper’s thick hair in her hands, running her fingers through it and watching the moonlight glint off the silky dark strands. 

“I’m sorry everything’s so dismal here,” she whispered. “Perhaps if I’d brought you at the end of the summer, the atmosphere would’ve been improved by then.”

“Rubbish,” Harper said, shaking her head. “I hadn’t realized how much the muggle war…affected everything here. I’d thought England was exempt, I suppose, despite the evidence to the contrary,”

They both fell silent for a moment, looking out at the street, where a lone car ambled down and disappeared around the corner. 

“Harper, do you think Dumbledore will win or Grindelwald?”

Harper placed a finger against her chin and looked out into the sky. Because of the smog, only the crescent moon was visible. “I’m honestly not sure. Dumbledore has the skill but Grindelwald is very powerful, and he is determined to have all of Europe to himself.”

“What do you think will happen if Grindelwald does take over Britain? Will it be even worse, like all those other countries in the east?” Mel knew Harper, who knew less of the wars than she, didn’t have the answers, but she had to voice the questions out loud. Auntie Bertha had said once that Grindelwald wouldn’t bring anything good for muggles. 

Harper patted her arm. “Well, let’s not get worked up over it, yes? Neither of us are seers—we’ve no idea what’ll happen.”

Easy for you to say, Mel tried not to think bitterly. She adored Harper but once in a while, envy reared its ugly head at her best friend’s much more fortunate circumstances. Mel knew those feelings were silly and pointless; Harper could help her blood status no more than Mel could. 

“Where’s your quill and parchment?” She noticed Harper hadn’t written a single thing since leaving Hogwarts. 

“Oh, I’m taking a break from it. Giving my hand a rest, you see.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what it’s about?”

“Nope.” Harper grinned mischievously and Mel rolled her eyes in exasperation. 

They remained at the windowsill for another fifteen or so silent minutes before creeping quietly down the stairs. A couple of years ago when the others had left the second-floor flat, Mel used to pretend it was hers. Now she no longer saw the point in such fantasies.

Over the next week, it was easier to push the dread out of their minds, for they lost themselves in the streets of London. Harper also lived in London, but on Grimmauld Place with the other pureblood families all the way across the city. She never wanted to go in that direction. 

Instead they ambled up Vauxhall Road, pretending to be moping muggle girls waiting for their sweethearts to return from war. Sometimes they caught the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley for window-shopping. Even though the air-raids had ceased, Mel preferred magical places. Though the muggle war was behind them, the fog of misery still hung over Meeker Street. 

On a Friday evening, they went to Fortescue’s for ice cream and ran into a group of boys in their year at Hogwarts. They were mostly Hufflepuffs, but Ravenclaw Henry Higgins was among them. Mel assumed they were going to ignore or rebuke the pair of witches, but the boys greeted them warmly, particularly Henry. 

“When do you reckon we’ll get our OWL scores?” he asked. 

Mel shrugged and turned to Harper. “I haven’t the faintest. Do you?”

Harper shook her head, but Henry was still surveying Mel. She blushed and looked away; since turning sixteen, she’d noticed an increase in male attention that didn’t extend to Harper, who seemed unbothered. With curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and a slim waist, Mel knew many wizards found her attractive. Even Harper’s father commented on it once, which had been supremely awkward. 

“What classes do you plan on taking?” Henry questioned. “I think I’ll take Charms, Herbology, Arithmancy, Transfiguration—”

“Assuming Dumbledore’s back by then,” Francis Willoughby interjected. 

“He will be. And of course, Potions and Defense…say, I heard Merrythought’s retiring. Do you reckon that’s true?”

“It is true,” Harper piped up, capturing the attention for the moment. “I overheard her telling Slughorn.”

“Who’s going to replace her?”

Harper shrugged before turning back to her half-melted ice cream. Mel was too flustered to take a spoonful of hers in front of the boys, so in her dish was a strawberry-flavored puddle. 

“Oi, Higgins!” a male voice called and they all turned to see Randall McLaggen, a pompous sixth-year Gryffindor approaching. Mel took the opportunity to excuse herself and Harper. 

“See you around, gentlemen!” she called as she linked arms with her best friend and they walked to the counter to return their dishes. 

“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Henry looked mildly disappointed. 

“Yes, we’ve got a long walk,” Mel told him apologetically seconds before McLaggen demanded his attention again. 

Later, up in the abandoned flat, she giggled as she rehashed the conversation, sitting on the sofa and braiding Harper’s hair. “You reckon he fancies me a bit?”

“Of course he does,” Harper said matter-of-factly, as if it had been obvious. 

“I’m not sure if I fancy him as well,” Mel replied, tapping her chin, a habit she’d picked up from Harper. “Though I suppose I’d better give up on Riddle and Havemeyer now that they’ve left Hogwarts.”

Harper was thinking deeply about something, gazed unfocused and lower lip bit. 

“What are you thinking about?” The question was always a gamble—less than fifty percent of being answered—yet Mel couldn’t help herself from asking it. 

Tonight, she was lucky: “I’m recalling Riddle’s mood at the ceremony. Such a drastic change from the past two weeks, when he’d looked downright glum.”

“Maybe because of NEWTs,” Mel speculated, “and he was simply relieved to be through with them. And trying to control us prefects.” They shared a chuckle. 

“One thing is for sure,” Harper said, fanning herself with that morning’s Daily Prophet. “He’ll be positively giddy at the prospect of never dealing with Felix Murdoch again.”

More laughter until Mel added, “Or Otylia Masiakiewicz. Did you see what she did at the beginning of the farewell ceremony?”

“Oh, Merlin, no, what’s she done now?”

Harper shook with laughter as Mel recounted the story of Herbert Murdoch and the non-English-speaking Masiakiewicz family. They were laughing so hard, Mel messed up the braiding and had to start all over. 

As they caught their breaths, the broad smile on Mel’s face stayed put. Although she was unlikely ever to voice it to Harper, these stifling summer nights with just the pair of them, reminiscing of Hogwarts and discussing their hopes and fears for the future, were her best times. How lucky she was that, for once, she didn’t discount the girl simply because she was a Slytherin. Harper Messier was decidedly the least Slytherin-like in green robes. 

Unfortunately, the glow of friendship was brutally extinguished the next morning by the arrival of the Daily Prophet. Mel awakened and saw that she was alone in the bedroom save for Harper, who was still sound asleep on the other side of the bed, her dark hair splayed over the pillow. 

No voices came from the kitchen, which was odd. Normally it was rather loud from her parents’ chatting and the clanking of dishes as Mum made breakfast. Another thing missing—the smell of eggs and toast. 

Mel dressed hurriedly and entered the kitchen. As soon as her parents looked in her direction, she knew something was terribly wrong. Her mother’s eyes were red, while her father’s lips were set in a thin line. 

“What’s happened?” The demand came out a lot shriller than Mel intended, but her heart had started thumping wildly as she saw her parents’ expressions. Slowly, Dad slid the Daily Prophet across the table.

“I’ve got to notify Bertha immediately.” Mum’s voice was wobbly with fear. 

“Now, Angela, don’t panic…”

Mel was no longer listening; a ringing was forming deep in her ear canals as she took a step forward and reached for the newspaper. Even before she touched it. Even before she touched it, her eyes had already run over the headline:

_GRINDELWALD DEFEATS DUMBLEDORE IN 4-HOUR DUEL_

~

Alphard felt as if he’d swallowed a whole ice cube as he read the morning paper. Dippet and the Hogwarts staff had been wrong: Dumbledore hadn’t won. 

_The whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore are unknown, though it is suspected that he is being held in Nurmengard, Gellert Grindelwald’s prison. “He fought like a hero, but with tremendous regret, I had to eliminate him, for his ideas of muggle-wizard integration are dangerous and destabilizing,” Grindelwald reportedly commented. His current whereabouts are also unknown._

A sudden clap on Alphard’s back caused him to spill tea all over his lap. “Yes, that’s right, brother,” Cygnus gloated. “Just what I’d predicted. Things are going to change for the better around here under Old Grindy.” 

“Merlin’s beard,” Alphard muttered, pressing his handkerchief against the wet spots on his trousers. 

“Be on the lookout for new laws concerning wizard-muggle relations,” his brother continued. “Perhaps he’ll push to outlaw them altogether like he did overseas. We’ve no business interacting with those savages. Their underdeveloped brains can’t comprehend the prestige bestowed upon the wizarding race.” 

Alphard knew he should agree. He knew he should be thinking like a Noble Black—superior, powerful, influential, pure. Muggle and muggleborn fates should be of no concern to him, but they were. All citizens of the UK were, and many had believed the wars were over when they’d just begun. 

A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he set his tea down, the fine porcelain of the cup and plate clinking loudly in the vast, empty dining hall. He tried to tell himself that everything would be alright, that Grindelwald would leave Britain alone, but he knew he was lying to himself. Grindelwald had been keen on Britain for the past decade, if not more. Now with Dumbledore out of the way, there was nothing to stop him from seizing control. 

The question was no longer if both the muggle and wizarding worlds would change, but how much for the worse?

~

Only six houses down from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black at Number 12, Harper sat at her desk in the Messier residence at Number 18, flipping through her journal. She’d noted that Henry Higgins seemed to have developed a fancy for Mel but added nothing about Mel herself yet, despite her strong reaction to the defeat of Dumbledore. It was already noted that Mel’s family, with the glaring exception of Walden, supported Dumbledore and his stance on wizard-muggle interactions, which was evidently about to change dramatically under Grindelwald. 

Harper wished she could match the intensity of Mel’s reaction at least a fraction, but the truth was that Harper simply wasn’t concerned with Grindelwald’s regime. It was going to occur—or not—whether they heaved and sighed about it or not. She felt worse about the McCreadys’ stress over it. She tucked the journal away in her desk and climbed into bed. 

She’d been home 24 hours and already missed them. If she had to hear about how much more thin, sociable, and attractive Annie was than she, Harper would surely run away. To make matters worse, Annie could use magic and Harper still could not, a fact Annie waved both figuratively and literally in front of her sister’s face. 

However, later that week, Harper woke up a couple of hours earlier than usual and overheard something interesting. The sun was only peeking over the horizon, casting pale blue light through her window. The birds were already in roaring melody, so she was unlikely to fall back asleep quickly. She rose from bed, slipped on her robes, and went downstairs to fetch a cup of tea. 

Number 18 Grimmauld Place was far more modest than Number 12, where the Messiers had visited on several occasions, but it was quite a jump from the McCreadys’ flat: two floors plus the maid’s quarters in the attic, handsome wooden furniture, and fresh, bright wallpaper. Perhaps Euporie had the idea that the brighter and cleaner the house was, the happier her family would be. If so, she was sadly mistaken. 

On her way to the kitchen, Harper heard her parents snapping at each other in the parlor, though this wasn’t a rare occurrence. She tuned it out until she was about to take a step into the kitchen and realized that they were not arguing about her or their marriage—for once—but her sister. 

“What if it happens again while she’s at Hogwarts?” Euporie’s voice came out hushed, but the worry and strain was clearly audible. “What on Earth will they think?”

“It will _not_ happen again _ever_ ,” Charles hissed. “We mustn’t ever bring it up again. She’s had these odd ideas planted in her head from somewhere, Merlin knows where, and we must extinguish them.”

“Don’t you think she may need help? Perhaps a Healer—”

“Absolutely not. Use that empty space you call a brain, Euporie. If word gets out that there’s something wrong with Ananke, her future and ours will be ruined. No one will want to take her hand and shame will be brought upon our family! I’ve worked too hard for our reputation to sink so low!”

“Alright, sweetheart, please don’t get yourself worked up. We must do our best to keep Ananke happy and calm for the remainder of the summer.” Her mum paused before adding, “And Harpalyke.” 

Charles snorted. “Is Harpalyke even on this planet anymore? I swear, all hope is lost for that girl.”

Harper decided she’d had enough eavesdropping and stalked into the kitchen. She didn’t need to overhear her father speak ill of her; he did enough of that to her face. 

Throughout the day, she studied Annie for signs of an episode, but she didn’t see any. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary before the last one either. That had been over winter break, the day after Christmas. Everyone was in different parts of the house, as usual, when the air filled with screaming and shattering glass. Thinking for sure they were being robbed, Harper had dashed downstairs to see her parents hovering over a wild-eyed, enraged Annie thrashing on the floor. Charles had placed a Silencing Charm on her, but her mouth still stretched open, her face contorted with rage. 

Euporie had been crouched in the corner, sobbing, while Charles stood rigid with his wand pointed at his daughter. That was the first time Harper had ever seen fear in his eyes and that, more than Annie’s behavior, had shaken her. Then he’d gained enough sense to Stun Annie, effectively ceasing the fit. When she was awakened, she had no memory of lashing out. 

Harper had immediately gone to record it in her journal. There was quite a large section dedicated to Messier, Ananke, for other than Mel, her sister was the one she knew best. Now she sat at her desk again, reviewing the notes in the bright morning sunlight. 

_Episode 26/12/44 screaming and thrashing, cause unknown_

She certainly wasn’t the only one to lash out in 1944—a good half of the wizarding world was suffering from the impacts of the Great Wizarding War, specifically the ration system. Hunger and uncertainty led to fear manifesting in anger. Though Annie wasn’t directly affected by the war’s hardships, perhaps she’d picked up on the atmosphere. 

Harper jotted down, _Episode 2 7/45, cause and reaction unclear_ , and didn’t dwell any further until the following week when Annie had another episode, one only witnessed by Harper. 

The house was empty save for Esther, the muggleborn, very poor maid the Messiers hired the previous year, and the two sisters. Charles was still at work and Euporie had gone shopping with a girlfriend. 

Harper was lying on her bed reading a book when she heard a deafening crash down the hall. As she jumped to her feet and ran out of her room, a mournful howl filled the air, raising the tiny hairs on her arm. 

She kicked open the door of Annie’s room to see her sister standing rigid in the center. On the floor were shattered bits of colored glass. Harper plunged a hand in her robes for her wand, but she’d forgotten it on her nightstand. 

The most disturbing of the scene was Annie’s eyes: normally a deep amber, they’d darkened to almost black, piercing Harper with a glare. 

“Get out,” she hissed. 

“Annie—”

“I said get out!” Before Harper could move, Annie was charging at her. As she turned away, her sister grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face-to-face. 

“Listen to me, you stupid little slag,” Annie spat. “I know exactly what you and our dear parents are doing.”

“What are you—?”

“I know your plan is to chuck me in St. Mungo’s. Well, you’re the mad ones, I say!”

“Annie—”

Harper was cut off by a vicious slap in the face. She clutched her cheek and stared in shock. Her sister had never raised a hand—or wand—to her. 

“You’re not taking me anywhere, you hear me?” Annie screamed. “I’m not going, I’m not going, I’m not! I’m not!” She was working herself up to a frenzy, gripping Harper’s robes and shaking her. Another slap stung Harper’s cheek, but she was able to use the temporary release to twist herself out of Annie’s hold and run down the hall. 

Just as she reached her room, she heard thundering footsteps and ragged breathing behind her as Annie seized her from behind. The two girls crashed to the floor in a tumble of robes, limbs, and mussed curls as Harper tried desperately to untangle herself from Annie. She’d never been in a muggle duel before and felt unnaturally slow and useless without a wand. Finally, with a hard kick to Annie’s abdomen, she crawled away and lunged toward her nightstand. She caught her wand just in time—Annie’s hand latched onto her throat and they went tumbling down again. 

“Don’t even try it,” Annie snarled as Harper rolled over and stuck the tip of her wand against her cheek. 

_“STUPEFY!”_ she bellowed without hesitation. 

At once, Annie’s face relaxed, her eyes closed, and her tall frame collapsed against Harper’s. She pushed her off and climbed to her feet, mind racing. 

“Damn it!” she swore, thinking of the Ministry and hoping she hadn’t activated the Trace. She’d heard from one of the Blacks that the Ministry didn’t check up on known pureblood areas such as Grimmauld Place, but Dippet had emphasized that magic outside the castle by underage students was strictly forbidden. If she got expelled from Hogwarts, her life would be over…

After hauling Annie’s body onto her bed, Harper took a seat at the desk, scribbling notes and keeping an ear out for anyone entering the house. 

_17/8/45 Episode 3, screaming and thrashing, attacks sister, accuses her of conspiring with parents to “chuck [her] in St. Mungo’s.”_ How on Earth had Annie overheard their parents’ conversation? Unless it had been a different one…

When it became apparent that the Ministry would not be kicking down her door, Harper tucked the journal away, went to her wardrobe, and pulled out a dress. Faded beige with patterned roses, the dress was distinctly muggle, certainly nothing a witch from Grimmauld Place would wear. Harper had chosen it from a secondhand shop on Vauxhall not for its style but its practical use—it afforded her complete anonymity in Muggle London. 

_“Rennervate,”_ she said softly as she pointed Annie’s wand at the unconscious girl on her bed. Before Annie could orient herself, Harper was already bounding down the stairs. 

The closest muggle library on Vauxhall Road was where she found the book that had changed her life, _Civilization and its Discontents_. Before that, she’d never pondered the effect of society on its people or if it even had one. However, Mel was a walking testament to those on the lower end of the scale were considered differently. 

One day a couple of years ago, Harper had asked Angela if it had always been that way, or at least in the thirty or so years Angela had been in Britain. “Not since the release of The Pureblood Directory.” Harper had been surprised, since she’d been exposed to the swotty and self-righteous attitudes of her fellow Slytherins descended from the Sacred 28 and didn’t necessarily agree with them. What she hadn’t realized was that they dictated who was successful in Magical Britain. 

When she’d found it, Harper had opened _Civilization and its Discontents_ right in the muggle library, sat on a stepstool, and read it for hours. When the sunlight streaming through the window had started to fade, she flipped to the back of the book and saw the check-out slips and stamped dates. Nobody had checked it out since 1940, and she couldn’t risk adding her name and address to the card in case it traveled back to her father somehow. Eventually, she stuck it up her skirt and walked out, eyes on her Mary Janes. When she’d returned a second time, no one had noticed her. 

Unfortunately, that was the only book of Freud’s that had yet been translated into English, but she’d found works by “psychologists” that explained a few of his concepts, such as an innate mental unsettlement called the _death drive._

This time, clad in that horrid beige dress, Harper’s destination was another library, for Vauxhall hadn’t any more literature on Freud, and that was who she needed to consult with. A theory from _Civilization and its Discontents_ could apply to Annie, that she was lashing out from external forces such as the Great Wizarding War and pressure to be the perfect pureblood wife. But if that applied, why wasn’t Harper having hysterical episodes as well? The difference between the sisters was that Annie was good at meeting everyone’s expectations and Harper was, well, not so good at it. Dreadful, in fact. 

No, there was an underlying reason for Annie’s episodes. If anyone knew about it or something similar, it had to be Sigmund Freud. 

In order to find another library, Harper had to weave deeper into Muggle London. She wasn’t thrilled about it; at times, she felt as if the muggles could sense that she was odd, not like them. Not that she particularly cared, but extra attention was not useful for sneaking books out of libraries. 

She passed a few clothing and upholstery shops, a bustling, nosy beauty parlor, quite a few run-down tenements, and even an orphanage—Wool’s was the name. She immediately thought of Tom Riddle, knowing he was raised in one around there somewhere. Not wishing to bump into him, she hurried past the cold grey building. As she passed, she remembered Riddle was finished with Hogwarts and unlikely to return to any orphanage. 

Further down the street, there was a tiny brick building with a plaque next to the white-painted door: William C. Bowlby Public Library. Harper didn’t have high hopes due to its size and proximity to such poverty, but she’d walked all this way with the sun blazing down on her head, so she might as well try it out. 

A smaller library could mean more supervision or less, depending on how many were employed there. Here there only seemed to be a single librarian behind a desk with books piled so high, she wouldn’t be able to see anything unless she stood up, which she didn’t bother to do as Harper entered. Inside was dim and cramped, perfect for scouting unnoticed. 

In here, she struck gold: not only was there an essay in English on a book by Freud called _The Interpretation of Dreams_ , there was a compilation of essays about concepts of his she’d never heard of before: the id, ego, and superego. According to Freud, these forces were within the human mind, shaped by experiences, and could explain deviant behavior. She had a wealth of gold in her hands, rich by way of knowledge. 

There was no time to read everything, so Harper skimmed the essay about dreams to get the general idea that they were the mind’s manifestations of its deepest wishes. She tried to call a dream she had recently, but she couldn’t conjure a single one. She had them, but rarely did she remember any, even just after waking. 

The compilation, a thick maroon text titled _Freudian Theories and Psychoanalysis_ was a bit of a problem because it was longer, and Harper would not be able to return to a place so far from her house anytime soon. Perhaps next year, when she could Apparate, but could she wait that long? What if Annie had another episode? Hence up her dress the book went with a silent apology to the librarian, who, judging by the loud snores, had fallen asleep anyway. 

The sun had sunk behind the buildings, tinging the hot air a bright orange. As much as a relief it was to be trotting around in cooler air, Harper’s heart sped up as she realized that it was nearing six o’clock when Charles was due to arrive home. Oftentimes he stayed at the Ministry well beyond that, and Harper prayed this evening would be one of those times. 

Unfortunately, it seemed as if her luck had run out somewhere between the library and home. She burst into the entrance hall of Number 18 to see Esther hanging up Charles’ Ministry robes and tucking them into the wardrobe. 

“Good evening, Harpalyke,” she greeted in her soft, meek voice. “Supper has been served in the dining hall.”

“Thank you, Esther,” Harper gasped, trying to catch her breath. She turned to start up the stairs, but just then Charles appeared in the hallway, glowering at her. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

“Fancied a walk,” Harper mumbled, feeling the book starting to slip uncomfortably at her waist. She held her arm over it to hold it in place, hoping the position didn’t appear to be noticeably awkward. 

“Looking like _that_? Like a filthy, low-class _muggle_? Just when I thought you couldn’t make yourself look any worse.”

Harper kept her eyes on her shoes, waiting him out. She’d learned quite a long time ago that it was best to let him rant and get it out of his system even when it was only rubbish spewing from his mouth. 

“Change into appropriate attire this instant,” he growled as he turned his back on her and headed back into the dining hall. “And wash your hands. Who knows what filth you’ve been touching. Esther, get started on clearing our plates.” 

The stolen book would qualify as “filth” under Charles’ definition. Before it could drop from beneath her dress, she clutched it and bounded up the stairs. 

She wished she had time to flick through it, but she did not. After supper, Madam Malkova would arrive for her and Annie’s piano lessons. Harper considered them a major waste of time even when she didn’t have anything to read, but it was easier to suffer through them for two hours a week. 

“The id, the ego, and the superego,” she recited as she pulled the muggle dress over her head. They did not sound like medical terms but rather fantasy-type ones. However, medical professionals like “doctors” and Healers did not know much of the mind yet; it was one great question mark. 

Annie had evidently managed to keep her latest episode hidden from their parents, but if the pattern continued, there would be yet another in the near future. Harper didn’t know what was causing them, but she intended to find out, preferably before her sister landed in a ward at St. Mungo’s.


	3. From Nothing to Something

By default, a seat at the professors’ table gave a much clearer view of the Great Hall than standing at the head of the Slytherin table. Tom found that he enjoyed having every student under his watchful eye, even when the majority of them were chattering loudly, horsing around, and causing a general ruckus. 

The Slytherins were glancing at him curiously. He hadn’t told anyone he planned on teaching at Hogwarts. It would’ve been a waste of time, as they could now see for themselves. 

A downside to teaching straight out of Hogwarts was that he was still stuck with his own aggravating generation of students. While some were ultimately worth it—namely the influential Slytherins like Malfoy and the Black boys—a good portion were insufferable, such as Olive Hornby and Messier One, grinning at him with foolish fancy. Or Felix Murdoch, who was infuriatingly clever despite wasting it wreaking open havoc. 

Cygnus Black had taken Tom’s place as Head Boy, while, unsurprisingly, Edwina Boot had replaced Lysandra Bell. Merrythought had told him she was in Auror Training now—pity. She was rather endearing in her naivety despite being a filthy, deplorable muggle-lover. Muggles were worthless. Only that Hitler they spoke of on Wool’s old radio had been of any use, simply because he exterminated a whole lot of them. Pity about him, too: old Hitler had just been found dead by his own hand. 

Dumbledore’s disappearance was a much better trade-off, however. Tom tried to imagine the old fool in Nurmengard in who-knows-where up in the frozen north, in a cell about the size of his room at Wool’s. Finally silenced. 

He was so caught up in this pleasant mental image that he’d tuned out the Sorting Hat’s song. It was usually nothing of substance anyway, but occasionally it said oddly fortune-like things, like it had in 1942. _Mysteries will be solved and secrets uncovered, one of our own will turn against another_ —as if the old thing foresaw the events of that school year. 

The Sorting began. Situated between Horace Slughorn and Septima Vector, Tom gave a couple of perfunctory claps as each twitchy, snot-nosed eleven-year-old sat on the stool and quivered under the hat. 

Only two Slytherins for school year 1945, though it was not a shock. There were much less students than usual, he noticed as the ceremony came to a close much earlier than anticipated. Speculation was due to the fear of Grindelwald taking over Magical Britain. 

“It’ll be a fine day in hell when that happens,” said Vector gloomily on Tom’s right. “I was really counting on Dumbledore coming out victorious.”

“Perhaps he still will,” Slughorn suggested. “I have complete faith that he’ll break out of Nurmengard. A wizard of his caliber can’t stay trapped for long!”

Tom stabbed his pumpkin pie with his fork and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Astra Clough, head of Ravenclaw and professor of Astronomy, leaned over, eyes wide. “I sure hope so! We haven’t got a head of Gryffindor. He’s such an important figure here at Hogwarts!”

“Indeed,” Vector agreed. “I shudder to think of the state of this place if Grindelwald sinks his teeth into Britain.”

“Armando will have it under control, surely?” Tom asked, unable to take any more. 

There was a pause as the three much-older professors stared at him, dumbfounded. He could tell they didn’t know quite how to react to him, this eighteen-year-old newly-appointed professor. He smiled warmly at them, letting his straight teeth peek through his lips. Slughorn immediately beamed at him. 

“Tom is right, of course,” he said, stroking his walrus mustache. Unknowingly, he rubbed a spot of pumpkin pie into it, which Tom decided not to point out. “We’ll manage just fine. We’ve got to keep our spirits up! Say Septima, do you recall how many were sorted into Gryffindor? Slytherin’s only got two!”

“We’ve got seven,” Vector told him. “I suppose most of the lot went to Hufflepuff, yes? Lucky them.”

“Not quite for us,” said Mataranga Groot, who clearly hadn’t bothered to comb her hair once over the summer, from behind Clough. “I was hoping that Prewett would go to Gryffindor like his brother. Ignatius gives me quite enough of a headache.” Ignatius Prewett was a sixth-year prefect and a pompous fool. Tom would not be intervening any altercations between Prewett and the Slytherins. 

“At least you haven’t got another Masiakiewicz,” Slughorn replied with a rare pessimistic note in his voice. “She should’ve warned us about having a sibling.”

Tom followed his gaze to the little “holy terror” known as Masiakiewicz. He wasn’t fussed about her; she was just like the hissy-throwing brats at the orphanage, and he never had a problem putting them in their place. 

After the ceremony, he was able to extract himself from the professors’ table and make his way to the dungeons, walking down the corridor after the straggling Slytherin students. At the end of the bunch were the two fifth-year prefects chatting about their summer. Tom had to remind himself that he was not Head Boy but a professor. 

He placed a hand against the door of the Defense classroom and pushed slowly. He wanted to savor the moment, the first time walking into _his_ classroom. _He_ was in control now—this was the first step to taking the whole school. 

Never having been beyond Merrythought’s office, which was now thankfully no longer decorated with pictures of unicorns and tabby cats, Tom explored the sleeping chamber first. It looked almost identical to the Head Boy’s except the bed hangings were black and gold, not green and silver. He wondered if they would change into Slytherin colors for him, but he didn’t care much. 

The office would be for concentrating on his plans and also reading, preferably in the chintz green armchair between the fireplace and book shelf. Merrythought had left a few books behind but they were only of elementary defense. Those would have to go, along with a hideous, folded pink quilt made of fuzzy, hair-like yarn on the bottom of the shelf. Tom kicked it in disgust, picturing old Merrythought wrapped up in it like a bug in a cocoon, sitting at the desk. 

The desk would be for grading and taking notes. Now that he had free access to the Restricted Section, he would be taking a lot of notes. His own book collection consisted of two items: _Mastering the Dark_ , a gift from Felix Lestrange, and what appeared to be a diary but was much more valuable than that. 

It took less than ten minutes for Tom to unpack his meager possessions from his trunk. By then it was around ten at night. His first class was at eight the next morning, the third-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. He thought briefly about going to bed, but he knew if he went so early, he’d wake in the early hours and pace the chambers like he’d been prone to doing at Wool’s. 

Instead, he took a seat at the desk—his desk—and took out his notes. On the very top, there was a list of treasures: 

_Slytherin—locket_  
_Ravenclaw—diadem_  
_Hufflepuff—?_  
_Gryffindor—sword_

They had all originally belonged to the founders of Hogwarts, but soon they would all belong to Tom. They would be his most prized possessions, his tethers to Earth. 

He woke up at five-thirty—there was a bit of light shining through the lake, tinging it more green than black. More out of bored curiosity, he peered through the circular window. This part of the dungeons was the deepest into the lake. The last thing he needed was some freakish mermaid spying on him. 

Since he doubted he could get tea at this hour, he went into the office, sat back at the desk, and tapped the green glass lamp with his wand to turn it on. 

This time he studied not his notes but the attendance list. It was Wednesday, the day of all Ravenclaw and Slytherin, except for his two NEWT classes, which were mixed. He and Dippet had arranged for him to teach all seven classes within four days so he had an extra day to focus on his own quest, which he of course did not speak of to Dippet. 

The first five years of students were of no interest, a mixed bag. It would take all five years to mold these minds, but the younger, the more impressionable. It was the older ones that had been under Merrythought for a few years that would be more of a challenge. 

The list of sixth and seventh-years was considerably shorter: he’d allowed only students with O or E on their OWLs into the NEWT classes. His seventh-year class had only five students:

 _Boot, Edwina_ —not a surprise. 

_Black, Orion_ —not as valuable as his cousin, Cygnus, but still will do. 

_Longbottom, Achilles_ —swell, a pompous Gryffindor, or was he a Ravenclaw? Regardless, his blood wasn’t worth much and his aunt Augusta was a mental case. Between that and his utterly annoying sister, there was a high risk of him turning out mental as well. 

_Malfoy, Abraxas_ —now here was a golden ticket. Abraxas’ father, Cassius Malfoy, was Head of the Magical Education Department. Not only wealthy but deep into the web of the Ministry. Just the man Tom needed in his pocket. 

_Messier, Ananke_ —AKA Messier One. He wondered if Messier Two was also in his NEWT class—likely. 

Pulling the sixth-year sheet closer, he started a new mental checklist: 

_Black, Alphard_ —again, no surprise. Just how many Blacks were there? They reproduced like rabbits. Not much else to do when you’ve got equal parts gold and madness, Tom supposed. 

_Delmont, Sequitur_ —mate of _Yaxley, Icarus_ , both lesser-known Slytherin boys, eager to run with the Blacks and Malfoy. No opinion formed as of yet. 

_McCready, Melody_ —Ravenclaw prefect and sister of Walden McCready, Grindelwald’s newest soldier. Now that old Grindelwald was heading for England, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a disgrace. 

_Messier, Harpalyke_ —so this was Messier Two. Tom had never bothered to learn which Messier was Ananke and which was Harpalyke, and he doubted he would remember now. Their father was Head of the Treasury Department, which could be useful. 

_Murdoch, Felix_ —“Are you goddamn _joking_?” he hissed out loud to himself. How on Earth had that clown wheedled his way to NEWT level? The whole class was all but ruined. Tom would be forced to spend ridiculous amounts of effort into refraining from throttling the boy. No, no matter—if he’d gotten through three years of prefect and Head Boy duties, which had come with the headache of tracking Murdoch’s every move, Tom could handle him now. 

_Prewett, Ignatius_ —another prat. Father was Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, family suspected blood traitors, according to Cygnus Black and his older sister, Walburga. 

_Weasley, Bruin_ —even more pompous than Prewett and Longbottom put together due to his status as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. 

It was going to be a long year. At least there was a handful of potential new recruits. Now with that fool Dumbledore out of the way, _real_ blood would rise to the top of the thinned-out mess of wizarding society. 

~

“Good afternoon, as you all know, my name is Tom Riddle. Had the headmaster chose to make a speech, I would’ve been introduced as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the Sorting Ceremony…”

It was more likely that the headmaster had forgotten to make a speech, they were all thinking, as the old man was prone to forgetting things more frequently. He seemed to give an opening speech on arbitrary years—the last had been in ’43 or ’44. 

Or maybe he was too embarrassed, Mel thought, since he’d been wrong about the duel. The familiar icy feeling filled her lungs as she thought of Grindelwald’s victory. 

“…but since you all know me, hopefully, as Head Boy last year, we haven’t got to waste time getting to know each other,” Riddle continued. “On to a more important topic, let’s go over my expectations of this class. First of all, obedience is of the utmost importance. Obey my command, and you will learn magic beyond anything you thought you were capable of performing. Defy me or cause any type of ruckus”—his dark eyes landed pointedly on Felix Murdoch—“and suffer the ugly consequence.

“The second topic is equally important and imperative if you plan on retaining any skill once you leave Hogwarts. You must think of the Dark Arts as a gifted opponent and respect them as such.”

He began to slowly pace with his hands behind his back. Mel tried very hard not to think of how handsome he was; it was sure going to be difficult focusing on this undoubtedly tough material. 

“Before a duel, you bow to your opponent, correct? You must do the same to the Dark Arts. Bow to them and acknowledge their power and grace.”

Mel glanced sideways at Harper, but Harper had her eyes glued to Riddle not in adoration but intrigue. 

“Once you have recognized them as a strength of their own, separating them from the body of your opponent and placing them in a higher category, you will be ready to face them adequately. How many of you never intend to cast a spell that has been labeled ‘Dark’ by the Ministry of Magic?”

Prewett and Weasley, looking slightly puzzled, shot up their hands immediately, along with Mel and Alphard Black. Murdoch and Delmont were slowly raising theirs, while Yaxley kept his hands folded resolutely across his chest, glaring around the room as if daring anyone to challenge him. Harper was surveying him, hand flung out casually. 

“With the exception of Mr. Yaxley, you will all need to discard that notion,” Riddle said after a moment, standing still in front of the desk. Used to Merrythought’s stooped frame, it was a bit odd for Mel to see the Head Boy commanding the class with such ease, as if he’d known since his own Sorting that he’d become a professor straight away. 

Now Prewett and Weasley were genuinely confused. Was Riddle telling them to _practice_ the Dark Arts? 

“The more comfortable you are with the Dark Arts, the easier your challenge will be. Our previous…system has taught you to fear them, never consider them, and to fight them blindly. To recognize defeat and embrace it is part of the process. Everyone rise from your seats.”

At once, there was the scraping of chairs as all eight of them stood, looking around the room uncertainly. 

“With the exception of the two witches”—Riddle nodded at Mel and Harper—“you are to pair up with someone that is not the person standing next to you and form two rows by the far wall. You have one minute.”

Excused from the harried task of finding a partner, Mel pulled Harper to the front of the class and stood with her back flat against the wall. Harper stood ten feet away in proper dueling stance, and both girls watched the others with mild amusement. As predicted, Black and Yaxley simply switched with Murdoch and Delmont to keep the Slytherins together. However, only Prewett and Weasley were left, and they had shared a table. 

“Fine, I’ll take Weasley,” Delmont snapped as the Slytherin boys started to bicker. 

“How very kind of you to offer yourself to me, Delmont,” Weasley replied snidely. “Shall I save the arse-kiss for later, then?”

“Listen here, you filthy—” 

“Time’s up,” said Riddle briskly. Weasley and Delmont immediately shut up and stepped into formation. 

“Now here is what you are required to do. The right row must think of a spell—nothing that causes pain—and apply it to their partners. The left row shall not retaliate, so go ahead and tuck your wands away.”

“Damn, I should’ve taken Weasley, then,” Yaxley muttered. 

“Wait, so we can’t defend ourselves?” Mel hissed to Delmont in alarm. 

“Reckon not…”

“Anticipation,” Riddle said, “that bristling you feel when you are seconds away from attack, can be a powerful motivator if cultivated. If not, you will either make an irrational, uncalculated decision or worse, stand frozen like a useless lump.”

Delmont snorted, glaring at Weasley. Mel thought he was being rather arrogant, as Weasley had quick reflexes from playing Quidditch. 

“You must learn in your own way, as if cannot be taught, to be hyper-aware of your opponent’s every move, every breath, to predict what…”

Mel’s world suddenly went black. She opened her eyes and found herself crumpled on the floor. Beside her, Delmont was writhing and screaming with laughter, having been hit with a Tickling Charm. 

“Miss Messier, you’ve got to give her more than half a second to anticipate,” Riddle was saying. “This is not life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” said Harper, embarrassed. She stepped forward and held out a hand to Mel, who took it and hoisted herself up. “Sorry for the lack of warning.”

Mel shrugged, waving it away. “So I’ve got to stand here and wait for you to stun me? I don’t quite understand how this works.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” the other answered, raising her wand again and pointing it at Mel’s chest. “Or perhaps I should think of another spell?” 

“Switch,” Riddle commanded.

“Finally, I’ll get you back, sucker,” Prewett snarled at Murdoch, blood leaking from his nose. Yaxley openly snickered and pointed at him. 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Murdoch goaded, stepping forward with his wand raised threateningly. 

“Try me, you wanker!” 

“Blood traitor!”

“What is going on there, Mr. Prewett and Mr. Murdoch?” Riddle asked impatiently, glaring at the pair. “Are you two wizards or animals? Five points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor. Assume proper stance now.”

Looking sulky and resentful, both boys retreated into position. For a moment, it appeared that Prewett was going to gamble with more House points and hex Murdoch’s eyes out, but he settled on a Full Body-Bind Curse. 

The feud did not settle between them after Defense. In Potions, while Slughorn was heavily engaged in conversation with Randall McLaggen, Prewett and Murdoch traded undisguised insults. 

“Hey blood traitor, why don’t you ask Old Sluggy for a recipe that’ll get you a muggle into bed, eh? Since you love them so much.”

“Waiting for your Leader, eh, Murdoch? Which arse-kissing ritual have you got to perform to prove your loyalty?”

“Oi, Prewett, it’s a wonder your cauldron didn’t explode in your face yet, seeing as you can’t rub two pebbles together.”

“What’s the _matter_ with those two?” Mel hissed to Harper over their Skin Regenerating Potion. “It can’t be that silly duel. Nothing even happened.’

“I dunno,” said Harper distractedly, frowning in concentration at the potion. She was bothered by the hue: it was a bright acid green rather than forest green. Mel didn’t care which green it was as long as Slughorn gave them a passing grade. 

Henry Higgins leaned over, not bothering to hide that he’d been eavesdropping. “Murdoch went up to Prewett at lunch and told him that his family’s going to suffer when ‘our Leader’ comes to the UK.”

“Nice chap he is,” Mel replied sarcastically, shooting a glare at Murdoch, who had finally shut up and was finally focusing on the potion he was brewing with Alphard Black. 

“Well, can we expect any better? He’s a Slytherin.” Immediately, his blue eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing his mistake. They both shot furtive glances at Harper, but she was still gazing intently at the potion, an eyebrow furrowed. 

Mel watched her friend for a moment. Sometimes she envied Harper’s spells of intense concentration, like when they were required to work as a team. Other times it drove her mad, like when she was scribbling in that damn book all the time. Harper had claimed it was a ‘wild adventure story” but couldn’t produce a clear answer to any other questions about it. 

Mel knew that prodding her about it wouldn’t get anywhere, but that didn’t satiate her curiosity. The girl even brought it to meals, eating quickly to catch a few minutes to write. 

Sometimes, Mel admitted to herself, it was lonely having only one friend, but one was good enough, she supposed, now that the whole school thought her a Grindelwald supporter. 

By the end of the first week, Prewett and Murdoch had settled on ignoring each other. Grindelwald had pulled a disappearing act; nobody knew his location. The Magic Army was silent. Yet Magical Britain was waiting, worried that this was the calm before the storm. 

Harper wrote on and on, but it no longer bothered Mel, especially on a morning in late September, when an unfamiliar OWL delivered her a letter at breakfast. 

_Mel McCready_ , it simply said, but she recognized the handwriting—Walden’s. 

With shaking hands, she tried her best to pull open the envelope calmly instead of tearing into it like she really wanted to. 

_29 September 1945_  
_Dear Mel,_

_Before I say anything else, I’ve got to tell you that I deeply regret leaving you, physically and in spirit. I simply could not burden you with the knowledge of my plans. I wish more than anything that I could have stayed, but I cannot ignore my duty to contribute to The Greater Good. Our Leader needs us now more than ever._

_I’m not going to attempt to indoctrinate you. I realized that your opinion of our Leader may not match mine and may align more with Mum and Dad’s. They’ve got it in their heads that he wishes to bring harm to muggles, but that simply isn’t so. I care for you no matter what, sister, and I hope you won’t find it too difficult to forgive me. I think of you a lot, our whole family, but mostly you._

_I await a letter, even if you don’t wish to write one just yet._

_With love,_  
_Walden_

All sound from the Great Hall had faded out. Only Mel, the parchment, and the words existed for a few moments. Then she pulled the letter away and came back to Earth as all the chatter and clinking cutlery crashed through her ears. 

Harper, who’d taken a seat next to Mel at the Ravenclaw table unnoticed, chose that moment to look up from her book and spotted the look on Mel’s face. “Are you alright?” 

Stunned, Mel nodded. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus and she realized her mouth was hanging slightly open. 

“Mel…” Harper prompted. 

Without speaking, Mel handed Harper the letter. The girl read it in about fifteen seconds and turned back to Mel. “Well, what do you reckon? Are you angry with him?” 

“I…don’t know,” Mel said honestly. “I mean, I know I should be, but I just can’t seem to muster any anger right now.”

Harper smiled a little and gave Walden’s letter back. “Don’t concern yourself over what you ‘should’ be. Oftentimes what you should and what you are don’t match up.”

She said it so easily, as if it was as simple as discarding all the roles she had to fill. However, Harper’s family situation and reputation wasn’t at stake like Mel’s. 

Not wanting to think even more bitter thoughts toward her only friend, Mel stood up, leaving her full plate of now-cold eggs and toast behind. “I’m going to think on this a bit. See you in Charms.”

Harper muttered a response, back to writing. 

A few days later, after much rumination, Mel decided to answer the letter. 

_3 October 1945_  
_Dear Walden,_

_I forgive you for leaving if that’s what you feel you needed to do. I have yet to form a real opinion on Grindelwald, except that what he says and what he does are often two different things._

She crossed out that last line even though she knew it was true. Grindelwald had a way of sweetening his words to let the public’s guard down. However, there was no convincing Walden at this stage—he was not going to denounce his Leader and return over her words. Arguing about it would only anger him. 

Did she care about angering him? He was the one who’d left them without a word. Not only were Mum, Dad, and Auntie Bertha upset, the McCreadys were struggling worse than ever with the reduced income. Mum couldn’t even scrape up a care package to send to Hogwarts like she did in the beginning of every other school year. Perhaps Mel did not forgive her brother after all. 

She sighed and rolled up the parchment without completing the letter. She hadn’t an idea what else to say. Stuffing the roll in a desk drawer, she stood and left the dormitory. 

Almost every other Ravenclaw was already in the Great Hall, ready to tuck into supper. It had been quite a long, challenging day for the sixth-years. None of the professors were going easy on their NEWT classes. Defense was by far the most challenging, as all spells were required to be cast nonverbally. Mel wasn’t very good at nonverbal spell-casting. In fact, she was pure rubbish at it. 

As she took a seat at the Ravenclaw table next to Edwina Boot, she scanned the Slytherin table for Harper, but she wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d stayed behind after Charms to speak to Professor Gangly. Harper hadn’t mastered the Aguamenti Spell and Mel knew it would keep her best friend up at night. 

She noticed that the Slytherins seemed to be gossiping in hushed tones, but they weren’t glancing at the Ravenclaw table like in June, when the news of Walden had circulated through Hogwarts. This was quite a relief to Mel, though she pitied the poor soul who was the subject of the gossip. 

After finishing her roast beef, potatoes, and pumpkin juice, Mel still didn’t see Harper, so she headed to the Slytherin table. 

Not wanting to speak to any of them, she chose the least obnoxious sixth-year, Alphard Black, to address. “Excuse me, Black?” she asked reluctantly, tapping his shoulder.

Mel had been hoping she’d only capture the attention of Alphard and maybe his brother Cygnus, but the whole damn lot of them fell silent and stared at her. Bristling uncomfortably, she took a dry swallow and continued. “Have you seen Harper Messier?” 

Black shook his head. “Is that One or Two?” his brother asked. 

“Er, Two.”

“Ananke is the mental one,” swotty Druella Rosier said from Cygnus’ other side. “She’s in the Hospital Wing. They both are, I suppose. Messier One had a hysterical fit in Herbology. Supposedly, she almost throttled Wilhelmina Grubbly.” Her usually cold grey-brown eyes were lit up with glee. 

“Huh?” Mel blurted. “Annie Messier threw a fit?” 

Rosier nodded, along with the others. Some were smirking but others, like Abraxas Malfoy and Icarus Yaxley, didn’t seem too interested. 

“She was screaming and swearing, claiming Grubbly was training her tentacula to strangle her.”

Mel frowned; that sounded so unlike Annie Messier, who was always smiley and polite, if not a little haughty. She was sure Rosier had gotten her mixed up with someone else, but the only other student known to pitch those types of fits was Myrtle Warren, AKA “Moaning Myrtle,” the girl who was killed by an acromantula in the first-floor bathroom two years ago. 

“Oi, McCready,” said Abraxas Malfoy. “Are you planning on going to Hogsmeade this weekend?” 

“Unfortunately not, I’ve got to catch up on homework,” Mel lied, knowing where this was going and wanting to avoid it. Unlike the other Slytherin boys, Malfoy was more concerned with looks than blood status. Though she was flattered at his interest, Mel didn’t think she could deal with his self-absorbed monologues for more than twenty minutes. Plus, Annie Messier was keen on him. Luckily, Cygnus Black threw him a disgusted look and he backed off. 

Mel excused herself and headed to the Hospital Wing. She was sure Druella Rosier had been mistaken, but just as she reached the Hospital Tower, she saw Harper leaving the Wing, walking with a slight hunch and rubbing her eyes. 

“Oi, Harper!” Mel called, trotting over to her. “What’s happened?” 

Harper turned to her and Mel saw a rare anxious expression on her face, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. 

“Is Annie alright?” 

“I don’t know.” The answer came out so lost, so uncertain, that Mel immediately placed an arm around her shoulders. 

Harper did not react, her dark eyes wandering to the sunlit corridor, where the entrance to the Hospital Wing was. The air was silent, not giving anything away. “I don’t know,” she repeated softly.


	4. Legilimency & Loyalty

Harper knew she could face expulsion for getting caught inside the Restricted Section without a pass from a professor, but her research was extracurricular and urgent. 

Madam Elspeth was not too strict, at least. She was old, over 150, and her vision wasn’t too keen. Even if she did manage to walk on her shaky legs all the way across the library, she surely wouldn’t recognize her, as she preferred to study in the common room to avoid Mel, who tended to talk her ear off. 

There was no solution for Annie other than the Draught of Peace, which turned St. Mungo’s patients afflicted with hysteria into listless, barely-responsive shells. Hysteria was looked at as a muggle disease, as those with only muggle blood could catch it. Only a few drops of “tainted” blood would do, even if the muggle had been several generations back. Their father, Charles, was a half-blood despite everyone being forbidden to speak of it. His father, Albert Messier, had been muggle-born. Harper had found out through the Pureblood Directory. The Messiers were still pure enough to avoid problems, but she knew it was an eternal sore spot at Number 18. 

She rifled through a book, _Magick Moste Evile_ , which had quite a few curses to drive a human mad, the root of all of them Legilimency, “a spell to penetrate the depths of the mind.” She had known of it, hearing Professor Riddle mention it in a lesson, but neither he nor the book informed her of any theory or incantation. 

Perhaps this one— _The Mind as an Unchained Web_. Very useful, it appeared, to make sense of the mind once she entered it, but again, it didn’t tell her how to enter, only referring to Legilimency. 

Frustrated, with dust clinging to her eyelashes and filling her nose, Harper pulled the ladder down the aisle to the very last book, a thick, purple and black tome titled _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ This one, she noted with interest, was not as dusty as many of the others were in this aisle. Someone had been looking through it recently—in the last couple of months. Perhaps one of her classmates? 

Well, she was unlikely to find that out unless they had left something behind in between the pages. They hadn’t, so she opened to the first chapter: _Introductory Spells_. No, not there…not in _Poisons, Hexes, Power, Increasing Transformations, Soul Magic_ …here, Chapter Ten, _Mind Invasion and Manipulation._

The very first page had exactly what she was looking for. The incantation— _Legilimens_ —was easy enough to commit to memory. 

_Step One: Stand no more than ten feet away with wand raised 80 degrees._

_Step Two: Make and hold eye contact with subject. This is of utmost importance for novices!_

_Step Three: With a low, clear voice, speak aloud the incantation. See Appendix A for pronunciation._

_Step Four: Once properly and securely in the mind, you must choose which corridor to take: Pre-Frontal One, Two, or Three. Note: You will not be able to move to the lower cortex without going through Pre-Frontal One! See map of brain in Appendix B._

Harper flipped to Appendix B on page 725, where a drawing of the human brain had been crafted in minute detail. There were at least twenty parts of the brain, each with over 100 different passageways. “Merlin’s trousers,” she muttered, wishing she’d brought a quill and parchment. A return trip was definitely required. 

She flipped back to Chapter Ten and read on: 

_Step Five: Will the mind to slow by concentrating intently upon the first memory retrieved. Focus on any and all detail, particularly colors. Note: This requires keeping own mind in a complete State of Blankness. The practice of Occlumency is highly recommended._

Harper frowned; she’d heard that term before, Occlumency. Where? Last year, in Defense, Merrythought had told the class its definition: the art of clearing and protecting one’s mind from Dark invasion. There had been a question about it on the OWL, but they’d never practiced it. 

_Step Six: Interpret accordingly. For manipulation practices, see page 501._

Well, that wasn’t very helpful. She didn’t want to manipulate a mind; she wanted to mend one. Harper slip _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ back onto the shelf and returned to The Mind as an Unchained Web. Perhaps a professor would write her a slip for it? Doubtful—it seemed to be intricately linked to Legilimency, a Dark spell. No, there wasn’t a professor at Hogwarts who would approve of this except for maybe Riddle, who seemed much more inclined toward the Dark Arts than any other. The problem was that Harper was wary of Riddle and didn’t wish to interact with him any more than necessary. 

Now was not the time to ruminate on that, however. She had to get out of the library before Madam Elspeth realized that _Messier, Harpalyke_ was not in hearing range, placing her in only one section. Harper also had to get to her journal as soon as possible and relay the information about Legilimency while it was still fresh in her mind. 

Once out of the library, she ran into Felix Murdoch, who begged her for her Astronomy notes to help with his essay. She reluctantly agreed to lend them to him later for the duration of her prefect rounds. “Thanks, Harper!” he called as he scurried off to the dungeons. 

Beryl Fawley and Druella Rosier waved to her politely on their way to the Great Hall. Druella looked positively glum, and Harper found out why when she reached the fork between the Left and Right-Wing dungeons: Cygnus Black was about a foot in front of Annie, arm outstretched, palm against the wall. Annie was giggling, chin tilted down as she peered up at him through thick, dark eyelashes. 

Harper hoped that Annie’s position would make it difficult to notice her, but of course, she was mistaken. “Where are you off to, Harpalyke?” she called in her fake-sweet voice. “It’s time for supper.” 

Harper tried not to scrunch up her face at her sister’s use of her given name. She didn’t want to upset her, so she simply smiled and replied, “I’ll be just a moment, sister.”

She could feel both pairs of dark eyes on her back before Annie spoke to Black again. Harper didn’t stick around to hear the discussion. She burst into the sixth-year girls’ dormitory and locked the door behind her. 

As soon as she was seated at her desk, she pulled out her journal and quill and wrote furiously for nearly ten minutes. In years past, she’d taken to using pieces of parchment, but now that she was more confident in her charm on the book, she’d taken to carrying it everywhere, lest she needed to refer to something quickly. 

Once the basics of Legilimency had been transcribed, Harper slipped the journal in her bag and headed to the Great Hall, where a plate of lukewarm food was waiting for her. 

Later that evening, she closed her bed hangings even though the dormitory was again empty and splayed out the Freud essay and the journal opened to the page on Legilimency. 

According the Freud, the superego was in the forefront of the brain. That must’ve been the “Pre-Frontal One” _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ referred to. The superego was a combination of the id, or the deeply-tucked primal urges, mostly the sexual and aggressive, and the ego. We’ve been using that term a bit differently, Harper noted, since “ego” was the root of “egotistical,” a term she often silently applied to the Slytherin boys. Freud’s ego kept the id in check, forming the way human behaved. 

Harper could see no reasons why this wouldn’t apply to wizards, too. After all, they had the same brains, didn’t they? Many purebloods would’ve argued that, but the fact remained that there were only slight differences between muggle and wizard, other than the ability to do magic, and most of those differences took place within the immune system. 

A quick, heavy puff escaped Harper’s chest. Those who had studied the mind all agreed that a hysteric’s was broken and scattered. There was no cure, but each race had their own method of dealing: Draught of Peace for wizards, something called “shock therapy” for muggles. Freud’s psychoanalysis appeared to be an alternative to that. 

“Harper?” Beryl Fawley’s nasally voice called suddenly, startling her. “McCready’s in the corridor asking for you.” 

“Alright, coming.” Harper gathered the books and opened the hangings. “Thank you,” she said to Fawley’s back, but the other girl didn’t hear her. She slid the journal under her arm, though she doubted that, between Mel, homework, and rounds, she wouldn’t have a chance to write again that evening. 

~

Alphard had to get away from Yaxley and Cygnus as soon as possible. Neither of them would shut up about Ananke Messier and her “wild side” they claimed she must have in bed. 

“I dunno if it would be worth it, though, mate,” Yaxley was saying. “What if she wigs out halfway through?”

“That’s what a Silencing Charm is for,” answered Cygnus, shrugging a shoulder. “You’d better learn it now, because if you plan on spending any time at all with a witch, you’ll need it. Or a muggle, if that’s your preference.” They both snickered derisively. 

Alphard stood from the chair, unable to take it anymore. “I fancy a walk on the grounds,” he told them, but they paid him no attention. 

On the way to the Entrance Hall, he passed Delmont and Murdoch, who were whispering conspiratorially to each other as they walked. They immediately stopped upon seeing Alphard approach. 

“Where you off to, mate?” Murdoch asked. 

“Grounds.”

“Wicked cold out there,” Delmont warned. 

Alphard shrugged noncommittally. He knew that, as a prefect, he should be concerned about what the two boys were up to, but he wasn’t in the slightest. Cygnus could handle that for once; Alphard was skiving off duties for the day. 

They parted ways and Alphard headed to the grounds. Delmont wasn’t lying: it was awfully cold, even for October. The sun was poking through puffy clouds, but the whipping wind snatched away all warmth. The grounds were unoccupied save for the Quidditch pitch, where the Gryffindor team was practicing for the upcoming match, looking rather ridiculous in wool cloaks. 

Why had Alphard come out here? For a bit of breathing room, he reckoned, for his fellow Slytherins tended to stifle him. Sometimes he wondered if he’s been Sorted into the correct House. 

He’d been mistaken: there was another who’d come outside for a reason other than Quidditch. A flash of blonde hair against the Black Lake caught his eye, and he saw an older-year girl in Ravenclaw robes sitting on a boulder near the shore, facing the lake. 

As Alphard walked toward her, his footsteps crunched loudly against the pebbled shore, catching her attention. She turned and he recognized her as Mel McCready. The expression on her face was so conflicted and forlorn, he paused in place. 

“Hello, Mel,” he said tentatively. 

“Hello, Alphard,” Mel replied. “Is someone looking for me? Harper, perhaps?”

Alphard shook his head as a strong gust blew his dark hair into his eyes. “I haven’t seen her.”

Mel’s shoulders sagged. “She’s quite the disappearing act these days. Dunno why I thought she’d seek me out.”

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, but she looked miserable, hugging her cloak tightly around her shoulders, warding out the wind. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, unable to come up with anything better.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said, looking not at him but the rippling black water. 

He hoisted himself up onto the boulder and settled his rear into a groove about a foot away from her. 

They didn’t speak for a good ten minutes. Mel seemed content to just stare at the lake, while Alphard wondered if it was too early to excuse himself. It was damn cold, and he was sickened with himself for thinking this way, but he didn’t want one of the Slytherins to come out and find him with a half-blood. Malfoy wouldn’t care, since he fancied the girl a bit himself, but Cygnus and Orion would surely not be pleased. 

“Alphard,” said Mel suddenly. “What do you suppose will happen when Grindelwald decides he wants control over Magical Britain?” 

Alphard glanced at her out of the side of his eye. Her pretty face was pensive, her cheeks blistering red from the cold, although she seemed otherwise unaffected by it. Above, a cloud blew over the sun, casting everything in grey. 

“I’m not sure,” he answered after much deliberation. 

“Do you think it’ll be like Eastern Europe?” 

“I’m not sure,” Alphard repeated even though his brain was saying yes. He didn’t want to upset her, to possibly cause a wig out like Messier One’s. 

“I suppose I could ask my brother,” she said, eyes still on the water. “If anyone knows Grindelwald’s next move, it would be him.”

Alphard couldn’t dispute that, so he stayed silent. 

“I’m not quite sure I want to correspond with him, though,” she continued, speaking more to herself. “He’s written me a letter, but I don’t know how to reply. He is dead set on Grindelwald’s Regime being a positive aspect to our society, but I don’t think it will be.”

“I don’t, either,” Alphard blurted, surprising himself. 

Mel turned her wide blue eyes on him. They were the color of the sky on a clear summer day. He was immediately drawn to them, unable to look away. No wonder Malfoy fancied her despite her blood status. Alphard had never really looked at her before, lacking the intense interest in witches his counterparts had. 

“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Or are you just saying that so as not to offend me?”

“No, I meant it,” he replied quickly. “I’m saying it because, well, I’ve never spoken to anyone who agreed with it before.”

She was still suspicious, but he could tell she was also a bit intrigued. “But wouldn’t you—your family…benefit from the regime?” 

He looked away, down at his shoes. The leather looked sturdy and pristine next to Mel’s worm Mary Janes. Even now as they spoke as equals, the differences between them were clear. “Probably. But I’m unconcerned about wealth and power. I wish only for the war to go away, for all of us to live peacefully.” 

“Me too!” she exclaimed, eyes growing even wider. He was treated to the concentration of sky blue, now with a slight sparkle. He fought to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. “Golly, Alphard! I had _no idea_ you shared a similar sentiment! Being a Black and all…” 

She trailed off, looking at her own shoes as she kicked nervously against the rock. 

“Yes, my family’s view on the matter is rather different,” Alphard said. “I could catch quite a bit of grief if any of them found out.”

Mel smiled, and he felt his head start to fuzz up as a warmth spread through his limbs despite the cold. “I’ll keep your secret,” she said playfully. 

He found himself grinning back, hoping he didn’t look like a fool. His frozen cheeks cracked around his lips and he winced before he could stop himself. 

Unfortunately, she noticed. “Are you alright? You look a bit uncomfortable.”

“I’m utterly freezing,” Alphard admitted. He hadn’t a clue how she could stand it, let alone sit unfazed. He realized he hadn’t much exposure to colder temperatures, as Number Twelve was always warm in the winter. 

Slightly embarrassed, he looked away, but she laid a bare hand on his arm and gave him another smile. Her teeth were not perfectly straight, but they lit up her face in a way that left Alphard slightly dumbfounded. “Come on, then. Let’s go inside.” 

They walked side by side, talking about classes. Between those and prefect duties, their schedules were almost identical, but Alphard usually defaulted to communicating with Harper, his fellow Slytherin. He enjoyed talking with Mel slightly more; she was so eager to unload words, almost as if she trusted him. He supposed that after the debacle with her brother, she hadn’t many friends in her own House. Olive Hornby, another Ravenclaw in their year, was constantly gossiping about her and throwing her dirty looks. 

“Well, it was nice talking to you, Alphard,” she said as soon as they reached the Entrance Hall. 

“You as well,” he replied earnestly as she walked toward the Great Hall. He couldn’t help himself from watching her curls bounce over her shoulders and the sway of her skirt. 

_Get ahold of yourself, mate,_ he scolded himself internally. 

~

_12 November 1945_  
_GRINDELWALD DECLARES HIMSELF MINISTER_

_In a violent coup that took place on the tenth of November, Gellert Grindelwald and his ruthless Magic Army stormed into the Ministry of Magic and captured over 120 workers, holding them within the Department of Mysteries. The location of Leonard Spencer-Moon is unknown at this time. Rumors are circulating that Grindelwald has made contact with Winston Churchill, the muggle prime minister, but this cannot be confirmed as of yet…_

_Citizens of Magical Britain, we must band together! We must refuse Grindelwald as our leader and disband the Magic Army! Our resistance to Dark forces must not waver…_

_13 November 1945_  
_Dear Readers,_

_We regret to inform you that the propaganda posing as news “The Daily Prophet” has been discontinued. As citizens of a new wizarding frontier, you deserve the truth. Our Leader only wants the best for all European witches and wizards, as well as to strengthen connections to other magical communities across the globe. We urge you to subscribe to the new, true press, The Oracle._

_We look forward to working with you, prized magical citizen to create a society impenetrable and unyielding to corruption and filth!_

_20 November 1945_  
_Dear Walden_

Mel’s handwriting came out as scribbles, for her hand was shaking too badly to get a proper grip on her quill. Her breaths came out as rapid huffs as tears blurred her eyes. She was fighting the urge to cry and scream. 

_Please just tell me what’s to come. Please tell me our family will be safe. Tell me, Walden, what is a “society impenetrable and unyielding to corruption and filth”? What exactly does that entail? Do you really think Grindelwald will show enough concern for our family not to put us in camps like he’s done in the east? We are muggles to him and impure to the rest of Magical Britain. If you care about me even the slightest, you will be forthcoming about our fate._

_Sincerely,_  
_Mel_

_21 November 1945_  
_Dear Miss McCready:_

_Your letter to Walden McCready was not sent due to the inflammatory content expressed toward our Leader. We are aware that this is a heavy adjustment from the old loosely-constructed order of operations. However, we recommend that you refrain from derogatory statements in written or verbal form, or face the consequence. Thank you for your compliance._

_Sincerely,_  
_Praxidike Warner_  
_Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic_

“Goddamn it,” Mel yelled, crumpling the parchment into a ball and chucking it at her desk. She’d had enough sense to remove herself from the Great Hall immediately upon receiving a letter from the Ministry of Magic, correctly interpreting it as a sign of bad news. 

Crumpling it wasn’t satisfying enough. She snatched her wand and pointed it at the balled-up letter. _“Incendio!”_ Watching it curl into flames calmed her only slightly, but she was better off returning to the Great Hall. Perhaps someone had noticed her absence, or maybe Harper was waiting for her. 

_Yes, and I’m a dancing peacock_ , she thought grumpily as she stomped down the corridor from Ravenclaw Tower. No one noticed her absence and Harper wasn’t waiting for her because she was too preoccupied with that goddamn book she lugged around everywhere. _Adventure story, my hat._ All the sudden, Harper fancied herself a novelist? Mel didn’t buy that, and moreover, she was hurt that her best friend seemed to hide everything from her, when Mel shared candidly her thoughts and worries. 

She was wrong—Harper was, in fact, sitting at the Ravenclaw table waiting for her, sans book no less. The sight of her should’ve made Mel feel better, but it only fueled her anger. 

“Where’s your precious book, eh?” she snapped at her. “Decided to grace me with your presence, have you? What’s the occasion?” 

Harper frowned at her, nonplussed. “What’s the matter?” 

“Oh, nothing, everything’s just swell!” Mel knew she was being irrationally cross with Harper, but she couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “If you’d picked your nose up from that damn book once in a while, you’d know Grindelwald’s got complete control of the UK, and what that means to us. Lucky you, you haven’t got to give a toss about the Regime!”

“Mel—” 

“What on Earth are you writing in that poxy thing, anyway? Don’t give me this ‘action-adventure’ rubbish either, because I know it isn’t…”

The back halves of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables had gone quiet. Ananke Messier had actually turned in her seat, a glimmer in her eye from witnessing the replacement wig-out that would catch all the gossip. 

Harper, to her credit, seemed to sense that Mel’s fury had little to do with her book. She stood and took her friend’s hand, tugging her away. “Come, let’s take a walk.” 

As they climbed a staircase to the second floor, holding hands, Mel finally began to calm down. “I’m sorry I wigged.”

“It’s quite alright,” Harper said genially, still tugging on her fingers. She knew that a gentle touch, not something she was inclined to do, relaxed Mel. 

“Only…sometimes I feel as if this friendship is one-sided,” she continued, expecting a defensive response that did not come. 

Instead, Harper stopped, gripped Mel’s shoulders, and nodded. “You were right. It’s not an adventure story. I’ve been recording all the background and behaviors of Hogwarts staff and students since fourth year.”

“You—what?” Mel blurted, failing to grasp the information. 

Harper pulled her forward, looking around with a shrewd expression. Nearby, there was a portrait of a chubby old man known to throw insults at students, but he was mysteriously quiet at the moment. “Come, let’s go back downstairs.”

They entered the dungeons, where Harper took her to an old classroom Professor Merrythought had used for a couple of years. Since it faced an area of the lake that almost never saw the sun, it was deemed too dark to teach effectively. Thus around 1943, she took over the room next door, which Riddle currently occupied. In Merrythought’s days, students had snuck in the old classroom to duel, since they were unlikely to be caught, as the other Defense classroom was the only one that shared this side of the corridor, and Merrythought’s hearing was on the decline. 

Mel had a hunch that Riddle was a bit more alert, but it wasn’t as if she and Harper were having a duel. He was most likely not in the room anyhow, as breakfast wasn’t yet over. 

“You mustn’t tell a _single soul_ about this, do you understand?” Harper said in a hushed tone. When Mel nodded, she continued, “I’ve been recording these things to analyze them. About a year and a half ago, I found a book by this muggle called Freud, who attempts to explain human behavior, so lately I’ve been using it as a model to figure out what’s wrong with Annie…to help fix her.”

“Golly, Harper, that’s fascinating,” said Mel with sincerity. “But you haven’t got to fix Annie. She’s not your responsibility.”

Harper looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted another head. “She’s my sister. I’ve got to try.”

Privately, Mel thought blood relation wasn’t enough if one’s sibling treated them as snidely as Annie treated Harper. Then she thought of Walden, at her outrage and disgust at his actions, and her unwillingness to denounce him.

“May I see some of it?” she asked, assuming the answer was going to be no.

Harper did shake her head, but for a moment she surveyed Mel, as if mentally sizing her up for something. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then the door to the classroom swung open and they both started, eyes wide. 

Professor Riddle stood in the doorway, frowning at the pair of them. “Surely you ladies should be getting to your first class?” 

Mel, blushing, stood frozen with her throat closed, but Harper took her hand and pulled. “Yes, sir,” she said, undaunted. “Come on, Mel.”

As soon as Riddle had disappeared, Harper turned to Mel and told her, “I’ll meet you in Charms. I’ve got to get something from my dormitory.”

“Oh…alright.”

Mel headed to Charms, where she sat at her table and took out her quill and parchment, since Professor Gangly always started the class by bombarding them with notes. Behind her, Patty Perks and Olive Hornby were whispering and casting glances at her. She pretended they weren’t there.

This was made easier when Harper burst in just before Gangly entered the classroom from his office and tapped on the blackboard, revealing at least twenty lines of tiny white scrawls. 

“Here, take it,” Harper whispered, leaned over with one hand in her bag and the other shoving a roll of parchment onto Mel’s lap. 

“What—?” 

“Miss McCready, mouth closed, please,” Gangly said briskly before plunging into lecture. 

After Transfiguration, Mel had a free period while Harper had Arithmancy, so she took the mysterious roll of parchment to her dormitory, where only quiet Eustacia Welsh sat at her desk, studying. Mel didn’t worry—Eustacia rarely paid attention to others, preferring whatever was in that pigtailed head of hers. 

When Mel unrolled the parchment, to her immense disappointment, she saw only a sentence or two. However, that faded as she read it, replaced by excitement:

_By reading this, you swear to destroy it, as this is a copy meant for you only. Double-tap your wand to agree._

Mel tapped her blackthorn wand two times against the words. They seeped into the page and more appeared. Hundreds more. 

_McCready, Melody Amelia_  
_11 January 1929, half-blood_  
_40 Meeker St, London_  
_Boggart: dead mother_  
_Family: Angela and Donald McCready (parents), Walden (brother), Bertha (aunt). British father, Austrian mother._

_Melody McCready is a half-blood witch that lives on Meeker St in London, in a predominantly muggle area affected by “bombings” of 1941. Mother Angela, muggle-born, homemaker. Father Donald, half-blood, works in Muggle Liaison Office. Brother Walden in Magical Law Enforcement. Auntie Bertha, muggle, works in factory, fled Austria under “Hitler,” which is speculated to be connected to GR._

_Family appears very close despite stress, financial struggle. Angela and Bertha argue often but show deep concern for each other and rest of family. Bertha nervous about muggle war, losing friends and neighbors. McCreadys sit to eat supper every night and spend much time together. May contribute to Mel’s need for company. Angela states many times her wish is for family to be happy._

_Because of close family and small dwelling, Mel prefers to be around others, in classroom or social setting. Often smiles and laughs, mimics disposition of mother, even when not happy. Family expresses fear of GR, “nothing good for muggles,” hopes both wars will end soon, as they’ve been badly affected._

_30/05/45—Walden leaves family and joins GR. Family in shock; Mel had no idea he was supporter, “makes no sense.” Conflicted about feelings toward W, trusts and loves him but also betrayed, considers him traitor—_

The sentence cut off; presumably, the rest was on the next page of the book. 

A spot dropped onto the parchment and Mel realized she was crying. All this time, she’d thought Harper was shrugging her off, tuning her out. As it turned out, she’d heard everything. She was listening from the very first day they’d met, on the Hogwarts Express.


	5. The Vow

The sixth and seventh-year boys were particularly obnoxious on this Friday night. Tom suspected they’d had some type of liquid fuel, but he was not going to investigate further regardless of how terribly annoying they were.

Malfoy, the ringleader, every so often stated a witch’s name and the circus—Yaxley, Delmont, Orion and Cygnus Black, and, begrudgingly allowed, Felix Murdoch—said, or rather shouted, their opinion of her.

“Lucia Tauriello.”

“Too highbrow for me!”

“Rather fit, though. I wouldn’t turn her down.”

“You reckon she’d cry out in Spanish in bed?”

“Isn’t she Italian?”

The boys had formed an unofficial club that, unlike Slughorn’s, they took free reign. It was easiest this way—Tom didn’t have to interact with them and he learned enough just by hearing them run their mouths, even though he often tuned them out to grade papers. For now, they trusted him enough to speak freely in their presence, a good first step.

Tonight, he was grading the sixth-year class’s essays, two-foot parchments on resisting the Imperius Curse. Earlier that week, it had become apparent that not a single one of them knew the first thing about willpower. He’d placed each one under the Curse and had them jump and scratch their heads like the monkeys they often behaved like in the corridors. It made for a rather amusing class, the first one Tom had immensely enjoyed.

“Ananke Messier.”

“Is that One or Two?”

“Obviously One, the other’s called Harper.”

“Who cares what she’s called? I hope to call her pussycat as she lifts her robes just so…”

“Would it trigger another fit, though?”

Tom took the next essay from the pile and frowned, momentarily confused, for this wasn’t even close to an essay:

_McCready, Melody Amelia_  
_11 January 1929, half-blood…_

By the time he got to the bottom of the parchment, he knew everything one could possibly know about Melody McCready, which for Tom was nothing at all, but it hadn’t been written by McCready herself. He recognized the girlish, left-slanted handwriting; he’d seen it not five minutes ago.

He flipped through the stack he’d already graded until he found the one he was looking for: the essay by Messier Two. Though her handwriting was much less tidy on the odd piece of parchment, it matched the essay.

Still frowning, Tom read the odd one over again. It was by far the strangest letter from a student he’d ever stumbled upon. To top it off, he couldn’t find McCready’s essay and he distinctly remembered her turning it in, which meant she must have submitted this thing instead. Why on Earth would Messier even bother with it? McCready obviously knew all of this about herself…

He shook his head and let out a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t understand, it was the mind of a teenage witch. A stab of annoyance passed through him; now he’d have to send someone to fetch McCready. His watch told him it was 10:10—too late now. Blessedly, it was just late enough to kick out the boys.

“Now that Old Grindy’s Minister, my dad can be less, er, tight with the funds if you know what I mean,” Malfoy was saying. “We’re all simply waiting for our Leader to realize Hogwarts is under his jurisdiction so he can start making some necessary changes around here. My dad’s got a couple of proposals…”

A discussion like this could make up for five sessions straight of witch-talk and other rubbish. Cassius Malfoy’s every move was important, for it was he who determined how Hogwarts was run. As of now, he generally gave Dippet control, but Dippet was getting older and older.

“Well, unless it involves getting rid of all the mudbloods for good, I’m not interested,” Yaxley told him.

“It just might…”

Tom considered letting them stay for an extra fifteen minutes to let Malfoy continue, but then that ridiculous imbecile Murdoch started up with the witches again. “What do you think of Wisteria Lovegood?”

 _“Lovegood?_ She’s out of her tree, mate.”

“But you’d take Messier?”

“Gentlemen, it’s getting late,” Tom interjected, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we continue next Friday?”

“Yes, sir,” one of them replied distractedly. Murdoch was still talking, but Cygnus Black knew by then to clear them all out in a timely manner.

“Good night, Professor,” he said as he ushered out his drunk cousin.

Once the door closed behind him, Tom let out a sigh of relief and took the next essay to grade, which was, coincidently, Felix Murdoch’s. He debated whether to deduct points simply out of aggravation, but he refrained.

Teaching wasn’t quite as fulfilling as Tom thought it would be. Instead, he was reduced to dealing with the problems of moronic teenagers, grading subpar essays, and catching any valuable information from drunk boys’ mouths. Was it all worth putting the treasure hunt on hold?

 _Patience_ , he scolded himself. After all, power didn’t just arrive at his doorstep in the middle of the night—it took years to cultivate, along with a few fool-proof back-up plans.

~

Mel sighed, releasing a breath heavy with dread. She hadn’t done her Transfiguration essay and it was due in less than an hour. She sat in the library with her head propped up on her arm, quill pressed to the paper, but the words would not come. Other questions plagued her, such as, did her family have enough to eat at home, or was Mum lying to keep Mel from worrying? Perhaps she could find out if she was allowed to send them food from Hogwarts.

Also, what on Earth was Grindelwald doing down there at the Ministry? Everyone was waiting, holding their breaths, for his first move.

Mel felt constantly on edge, ready to break. At the most random and public moments, such as during lessons and meals, bursting into tears was a continuous threat, but at night they would not come. She was angry and fearful of Grindelwald, but most of all, and she hated to admit it, she yearned to talk to Walden.

Sighing in frustration, she threw her quill onto the desk, shoved everything in her bag, and stalked out of the library. There wasn’t any possibility of completing an essay on the properties of water as a Transfigurative Element—perhaps a walk would help.

Or perhaps not, as the first person Mel passed in the main corridor was Antonia Longbottom, who had been fairly close to Mel before the past June. Almost all the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor girls treated Mel differently, but Antonia’s rejection hit her the hardest. Though she could be a know-it-all, Antonia openly praised Dumbledore and called for peace. For this reason, she was loathed by almost all Slytherins and anyone else who supported Grindelwald. However, due to her uncanny debate skills and tendency to annoy people, not many voiced their opinions to her face.

When a Longbottom didn’t care for someone, they took no issue with making it blatantly obvious: Antonia’s nose wrinkled when she and Mel locked eyes, and she turned her head away.

Feeling slightly more miserable, Mel decided to go outside. The harsh wind deterred everyone else, as they were likely not used to cold like she was. Meeker Street rarely reached the warmth of Hogwarts, especially not on windy nights.

A tiny part—alright, a large part of her was hoping she’d run into Alphard Black again. She’d enjoyed their discussion last time, and of course his good looks contributed to his appeal. All the Blacks were attractive, even that foul-tempered Walburga, who’d finally graduated. The other Black heiress, Lucretia, had been in that year, too, but she was much more pleasant. The Head Boy, Cygnus, was the best-looking to Mel, but also the most pompous and arrogant prat alongside Abraxas Malfoy.

As a cluster of students entered the corridor and surrounded her, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and sure enough, there was Alphard Black. Against her will, her heart leapt.

“Hello, Alphard,” she said cheerfully. “Where are you off to?” She was hoping he didn’t have a destination and he’d ask to join her for a walk.

No such luck. “I’ve got Arithmancy in ten minutes,” he replied. “Listen, Professor Riddle has asked me to fetch you and send you to his office. He said to bring your Imperius Curse essay.”

Mel frowned. “I’ve already turned it in.”

Alphard shook his head with a slight shrug. “He said you’ve got it and to bring it.”

“That can’t be right,” Mel said, gawping in confusion. “I remember specifically placing the scroll on his desk at the beginning of the lesson on Friday.”

“Perhaps you turned in something else?” Alphard suggested.

“I can’t have…well, thank you, Alphard. I’ll go check.”

“My pleasure,” he responded, giving her a slight smile. It caused her to smile in return, but she was ruminating over the essay. “I’d better run. I’ll see you in Transfiguration.”

“Alright, Alphard, see you,” she answered and changed direction to Ravenclaw Tower. She had turned in that essay; she could picture it. She was aware of her every move in Defense, terrified of messing up in front of Riddle. This was more a result of her fear of embarrassment rather than Riddle himself. Though he was very strict with them, they rarely saw him frustrated unless they misbehaved.

Once in her dormitory, where she had the misfortune of seeing Antonia Longbottom again, she went straight to her desk. Unconcerned with what Antonia was doing, she rifled through her classwork until she found her Defense folder. To her horror, her essay on resisting the Imperius Curse was sitting right on top of her notes. She had indeed handed in the wrong two-foot piece of parchment, but the only other essay due in this time frame was the Transfiguration one she was supposed to be writing at that moment. What other…?

Mel felt as if she’d swallowed a cold steel bullet as her frantic fingers flipped through the folder. No, she couldn’t have… She pulled out all the folders and splayed them out on her bed, heart speeding up. It had to be there, it had to be…it wasn’t. She’d given it to Professor Riddle.

“Oh, Merlin,” she breathed out loud, forgetting about the presence of Antonia. “Harper is going to positively _murder_ me.”

It’s alright, she told herself on the way to the dungeons. It was very unlikely that he’d find it of any concern. He thought it was hers, so he hadn’t any connection to Harper, or any interest in it at all, for that matter. Why was her body’s reaction telling her something else?

Riddle was sitting at his desk when she entered the classroom. “Ah, Miss McCready. Please have a seat.” He pointed his quill at the empty chair in front of his desk. “Turning in your essay, I assume.”

Clutching the scroll with sweaty palms, Mel advanced toward the chair, nodding her head. “Yes, sir.” Her voice came out raspy. After a large, hopefully-discreet swallow, she added, “I’m sorry for the mix-up, sir.”

“It’s alright,” he replied genially as he took the scroll and opened it. “Yes, here is the correct one. Don’t fret. You’re not the first one to turn in another assignment, although I’m not sure that’s what I would call Miss Messier’s notes.”

So he did know they were Harper’s and he’d read the whole thing, evidently. Mel took another swallow and wiped her palms on her skirt.

“You look a bit uncomfortable,” Riddle observed. “Her notes were hardly incriminating.”

“Harper…preferred I didn’t speak of them, sir.”

Mel looked at him and immediately thought of Harper in the old Defense classroom, seizing her shoulders and telling her to swear to keep it a secret. Mel didn’t know what the big fuss was about either, but she supposed it had something to do with Harper drawing ideas from a muggle, which her father would disown her for if he ever found out.

Riddle gave her a smile but she suspected his patience was slipping. “Well, let me give it back to you and she’ll be none the wiser. Come, it’s in my office.”

Relieved and slightly anxious at the prospect of being alone with him, Mel followed him into the office. He picked something up from his desk and turned to her.

She assumed it was the parchment with Harper’s notes, but she saw that he had his wand in his hand, and he was raising it…

_“Obliviate.”_

The word was spoken softly, but bright, white-hot light was engulfing her, filling her head, blinding her. Her eyelids squeezed together as the harsh light assaulted her at every angle…

Memories were playing, but rapidly in reverse—the conversation at Riddle’s desk, leafing through her notes, Alphard Black tapping her on the shoulder, Harper’s whispers in the old classroom… They burned away as deafening black and white static consumed her mind…

~

Beryl Fawley and Druella Rosier, Harper had determined, were the two most boring creatures to ever grace the wizarding world. All they talked about were blokes, dresses, hair potions, and lipstick, it seemed. Charles constantly prompted her to form friendships with them, but Beryl was self-absorbed and Druella harbored a deep rivalry with Annie. However, they tolerated Harper and didn’t mind when she ignored them.

The two girls sat on a sofa while Harper was lounging in an armchair with her legs hanging over the arm, feet near the fire. She was pondering approaches to getting Annie to agree to succumbing to Legilimency. “Hello, sister, may I invade your mind for educational purposes?” surely wouldn’t work.

Perhaps she could express her hope of fixing the hysteria, or lessening it, but she could not make any promises. She doubted Annie would even believe her—

“Oi, Messier!” a male voice called, startling her so badly, she nearly slid off the chair. She hastily sat up, fixed her skirt, and smoothed down her hair as Abraxas Malfoy walked over. “McCready’s in the corridor looking for you.”

“Oh, alright.” She stood up and mustered a smile at him. “Thank you, Abraxas.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, just tell your sister to let me take her to Hogsmeade next weekend.”

Behind him, Cygnus Black made a face of disgust and rolled his eyes, which probably wasn’t intended for Harper to see.

In the corridor, Mel rushed up to her and grasped her arm. “Did Malfoy say anything about me?”

“Only that you’re out here waiting for me,” Harper replied. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s—? Oh, nothing. Riddle wants to see you is all.” Mel was distracted, eyes blank and shifting out of focus, apparently preoccupied with something.

“Did he say why?” Harper asked uneasily.

Mel shook her head. “Something to do with the essay, I reckon.”

Harper thought back to her essay, which she was careful to make perfect after the disastrous lesson. Being subjugated to the will of the supposed heir of Slytherin was not somewhere she was ever inclined to be again.

“Hopefully it won’t interfere with Transfiguration,” she said more to herself than to Mel.

“I’m sure he’ll write you a late pass if so,” Mel replied disinterestedly.

Harper frowned at her friend’s unusual listlessness. She wondered what Mel thought of her notes, but she’d let Mel tell her on her own time if she ever wanted to bring it up. Perhaps Harper wrote too candidly about her family and it had been embarrassing for Mel, but she had asked for it after all.

“Listen,” Harper said, gripping her shoulders. “Be sure to get rid of the notes, alright? Burn them, Vanish them, it’s your choice, just ensure that they’re gone.”

“Which notes?” Mel asked.

Harper stared at her. “The ones I gave you…from the book…”

“Which book? _Practical Defense_?”

Harper made a _tsk_ noise and shook her head, preoccupied. “Just get rid of them,” she called over her shoulder as she headed to the Defense classroom.

Oddly, Mel was still standing there as if really pondering what Harper was referring to, but Harper had no time to dwell. There were more pressing questions, such as what in the name of Merlin Riddle wanted with her.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” she said as she entered the classroom. Riddle was seated at his desk with a single two-foot long piece of parchment in front of him. “McCready told me you wish to speak to me about my essay?”

“Please have a seat, Miss Messier,” he responded, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

As she released the heavy wooden door and walked down the aisle, it closed with a thud behind her, intensifying her unease.

“It’s not your essay I wish to speak with you about,” Riddle said softly. “It’s Miss McCready’s, or rather, what Miss McCready’s given me by mistake.”

Harper tried to stop herself from frowning to no avail. That piece of parchment had her handwriting, so what could Mel have—? The air seemed to leave the room as it hit her—the notes.

She tensed up and emitted a tiny gasp, which thankfully was inaudible. Except it didn’t matter, since Riddle was scrutinizing her reaction.

After a long, excruciating pause, he asked, “What is this?”

She could not tell him, no, she couldn’t. Even if he wasn’t the one who intended to kill all of the muggleborns in 1943, he would surely disapprove of the source of her ideas, especially now with Grindelwald as Minister. According to the Slytherin boys, Riddle was a strong supporter of the Regime.

“I asked you a question, Miss Messier.” His voice was brisk now, demanding.

Harper had to think faster. Clutching her knees with shaking hands, she finally pried open her mouth. “I…you see, sir, Mel and I had a row…about—about our friendship, and she seemed to think I was, er, less attentive than a normal…friend, and so I wrote her that to show her that I have indeed been paying attention, and that our friendship is, erm, valuable. I started them last year, you see…”

Riddle’s face was expressionless and when he spoke again, his tone was pleasant. “That’s a very touching story, dear, but I suggest you stop lying to me.”

Harper’s mind ground to a halt. Could he be so certain that she was lying? The book flashed across her eyes, safe under the mattress in her dormitory. There wasn’t any possibility he could’ve known about it unless Mel told him…

“She hasn’t told me about the book under your mattress,” Riddle said, slightly amused, surveying Harper carefully. “I have modified her memory, so she doesn’t remember anything about it, either.”

Harper felt her jaw drop open. “You—?”

“Go to your dormitory at once, retrieve the book, and bring it here. You had better not speak of it, make copies, or alter it in any way. Get it and bring it directly here. Do you understand me?”

Her mouth had clamped itself shut again, and she couldn’t will herself to move a muscle despite her best efforts. Mel’s blank look, her ignorance of the notes, her unusually flat demeanor—it all made sense.

“I said, do you understand me, Miss Messier?”

Harper snapped out of her reverie and met Riddles piercing glare. He’d Obliviated Mel, he read her mind, _he knew Legilimency_ , she had to _move_ …

“Yes, sir,” she managed, standing on shaky legs. 

“Remember, if you do anything to that book, I will know,” he reminded her. 

She stood still, telling her head to nod, but her body wasn’t listening to her anymore. 

“Hurry up, dear, go _now_ ,” Riddle prompted impatiently. 

“Yes, sir,” she repeated in a dull voice, turning and walking slowly out of the classroom. 

Under normal circumstances, the Slytherin common room was about a ten-minute walk from the Defense room. Today, however, it took about one step before Harper landed in front of the entrance. 

“The Greater Good,” she whispered, untrusting of her voice not to waver. The stone wall shifted to the side and she dashed through the passage to the common room. 

“Oh dear sister, there you are!” Annie called from in front of the fireplace, surrounded by seventh-year boys. “Have you received a letter from Father?” 

“I haven’t.” Harper briefly wondered when the last time her father had sent her a letter—’42 the latest. She could neither dwell on that nor stop to talk to Annie. 

“He and Mother are thinking about a trip to France this holiday...where are you going? For Merlin’s _sake_ , Harpalyke, I’m speaking to you. How _rude_ …” 

Harper’s clomping up the stairs drowned out her sister’s voice. The dormitory was empty as predicted, since the four sixth-year girls were currently supposed to be in Transfiguration. 

With a heavy, sinking heart, she lifted her mattress and snatched her book, her hard work of the past three years, her livelihood. Her next move should have been to leave the room and go back to the Defense classroom, but she could not. Instead, she sat on her bed, clutching the book to her chest, and let tears pour down her cheeks. 

Once he read the section under his own name, Riddle was going to Obliviate her, too, and destroy her book. That’s if he didn’t kill her. She’d lose everything: her work, a piece of her mind, possibly her life...her hope of being a Healer, ruined…

By the time she stopped sniffling and wiped her eyes, her despair had turned into rage. Just who did Riddle think he was, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong? What did _he_ care about her observations? The answer was not one bit, she told herself as she checked her reflection in Druella’s mirror. 

Her cheeks were red, her eyes puffy. It was obvious she’d been crying, but she couldn’t dawdle any longer. Her watch told her she was over fifteen minutes late to Transfiguration, and who knew how long it took to be Obliviated…

Ignoring the tears stinging her eyes, Harper blinked hard and left the dormitory. Thankfully the seventh-years had cleared out, likely to their classes. Again the walk to the Defense classroom was too short. Damn, why couldn’t Riddle have a lesson at this hour like the rest of the professors? 

His classroom was empty—for a wild, hopeful moment, Harper thought maybe he’d left, but then his voice called, “In here, Miss Messier,” from behind his office door. 

With an audible sigh of dejection, she kicked the door closed and stomped down the aisle. She managed to take a deep breath and rein in her anger before entering the office. 

The last time she’d been in there, it had belonged to Professor Merrythought, who’d adorned the walls with pictures of majestic creatures and pink flowers. She must have taken them with her and Riddle never bothered to redecorate, as the office was nearly bare. To Harper, it was more aesthetically pleasing this way, but she wished for Merrythought back. She would’ve never modified a student’s memory. 

“Close the door and take a seat,” Riddle ordered from behind the desk, pointing at a chair larger than any in the classroom and made of leather. 

Harper obeyed and set the book on the desk, narrowly refraining from slamming it down like she really wanted to. She refused to look at him, feeling his eyes boring into her. After sitting and smoothing down her robes, she crossed her arms and stared glumly at her knees. 

“Look at me,” he commanded.

As slowly as possible, she raised her eyes to his. They both had dark brown eyes, she realized, but his were like black tunnels, revealing nothing. The past twenty minutes flashed by: leaving the Defense classroom, rebuffing Annie in the common room, pulling up her mattress, clutching the book to her chest and crying… Harper’s cheeks burned in embarrassment, but she stared defiantly back at him, daring him to mock her. 

He did not; he withdrew from her mind and slid the book closer, opening it carefully. _“Aparecium,”_ he said softly, tapping the first page with his bone-white wand. Immediately, Harper’s handwriting appeared:

_The Adventures of Julia Green and the Turquoise Phoenix_  
_© 1945 Harpalyke C. Messier_

Riddle dragged the tip of his wand over the title, but nothing happened. Then he pulled it away and pointed it at Harper, who flinched horribly as her wand slid out of her robes and flew toward him. 

In that moment, wandless and vulnerable, she hated Riddle more than anyone else, even Charles. He’d stripped her of all her tools. She watched him repeat the movement across her words with her wand, and they rearranged themselves to form a different title: 

_Behavior Analyses of Students and Faculty at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

He turned the page to the first study, which was of _Abbot, Fiona Maria_ , a sixth-year Hufflepuff who had a knack for Arithmancy, earning her a spot as Professor Vector’s favorite. Then he skipped a few pages to _Black, Cygnus Nigellus_ , where there was a detailed history of the noble—and in Harper’s opinion, insane—Black family. Cygnus, who had been Riddle’s cohort in previous years, was described as “handsome, aware of it, and uses it to seduce witches and weasel out of trouble. Likely basis for making Head Boy.”

A slight smirk crossed Riddle’s face as he flipped through more pages. When he reached the R section, Harper tore her eyes away, heart beating rapidly, feeling the blood rush through her body. This was it, the part which would have him determine her fate. 

_Riddle, Tom Marvolo_  
_31 December 1926, half-blood_  
_Vauxhall Rd (?) orphanage, London_  
_Boggart: himself, dead_  
_Family: Tom Riddle (father—muggle?), Marvolo (grandfather, wizard), claims to be descended from S. Slytherin. Parseltongue backs this up._

 _Tom Riddle is a Slytherin prefect, half-blood, lives in orphanage on or near Vauxhall Rd. Mother supposedly a witch descended from Slytherin, died in childbirth. Father’s location, blood status unknown. Far above average magical talent, described as “most brilliant since Dumbledore” (S. Vector 11/44), teased heavily prior to 1943 by other Slytherins, called “mudblood” and “poxy orphan” (among more vulgar), never reacted to them, keeps to himself, passes time in library. 1943 Chamber of Secrets rumours (see: Warren, Myrtle) changed status, other boys now look up to him due to brilliance and claimed connection to Slytherin. Hates muggles and expresses desire to “cleanse Hogwarts of those with unworthy blood” (O. Black 27/02/45). Polite to most students and staff, uses attractiveness to charm others like C. Black and A. Malfoy. Neutral to GR._

_01/10/45—Professor of Defense replacing G. Merrythought. Favors Slytherins but treats students strictly and fairly. Affinity for teaching curses rather than counter-curses._

_01/09/45—Head Boy, does not reciprocate interest of HG L. Bell. Still very polite, charming, expressed disinterest in Ministry career despite H. Slughorn’s suggestions._

_03/03/44—Enjoys power over other students, has a cruel streak not seen outside of Slytherin CR, not satisfied—after something that doesn’t coincide with blood purity._

_01/09/44—First student in 20th century to receive 10 OWLs with O marks._

_06/11/43—Irked by his name “Tom Riddle,” neg connotation with muggle-ness, plainness._

_23/09/43—Rumoured to have opened Chamber of Secrets, parselmouth, promotes blood purity (despite blood status), no concern for fate of M. Warren, appears stoic but has torrent of anger under the surface, perhaps due to poor circumstance._

_15/06/43—Informed A. Dippet about acromantula (see: Hagrid, Rubeus), awarded for special services to Hogwarts._

_11/04/43—Uses charm, intelligence, bad upbringing to elicit sympathy from staff except A. Dumbledore, mutual dislike between both, reason unknown (speculation competition, fear)_

_01/09/43—Appointed Slytherin prefect. ___

__Harper’s hands were shaking so hard that every joint, bone, and muscle was tingling with vibration. She slipped them under her lap, sweaty palms sliding across the leather of the seat. It took all of her self-control to refrain from tapping her feet, checking her watch, or rocking back and forth. Her stomach felt like its contents were being furiously churned._ _

Riddle, still without expression flipped back toward the beginning to _Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian_. After a brief description of his family and achievements, Harper had noted that he’d been “reluctant to engage in defense against Grindelwald, suggesting a closer tie than childhood acquaintance.” 

__“This is...rather impressive,” Riddle finally said, breaking a silence that seemed unlikely to ever end._ _

__Harper wanted to thank him, since she’d never heard him dole out a compliment to a student, but she had not one drop of moisture in her mouth. Her tongue was sticking uncomfortably to its surroundings._ _

__“What brought this about?” he asked, flicking through the pages again. Grateful that he wasn’t looking at her, she grimaced as she took a large swallow._ _

__“It started in fourth year.” Her voice was soft, weak, but she feared it would crack if she raised it. “Professor Merrythought paired us up for a duel, and I’d gotten stuck with Bruin Weasley. The previous term, we’d gone over boggarts, and his was a flock of birds attacking him, so I conjured a flock of birds and, erm, sent them after him…” She trailed off, realizing how ruthless she sounded._ _

__“Did you win?” Riddle asked with traces of amusement in his voice._ _

__Despite her fear, Harper’s mouth threatened to turn up at the corners. “Yes, although Professor Merrythought deducted a fair amount of points from Slytherin for causing him to faint._ _

__“Later on, Mur—another student approached me and asked me to help him devise a prank list with the boggarts. It never came to fruition,” she added hastily. “We decided to scrap it because it probably would’ve terrorized the entire school.”_ _

__“Indeed it would have,” Riddle agreed. “This student doesn’t happen to be Felix Murdoch, does it?”_ _

__“Yes,” Harper admitted, since there was evidently no use hiding anything from him anymore. “But it was his decision to scrap it! Neither of us intended to cause harm.”_ _

__“Relax, Miss Messier, I’m not going to mention it to him. He loses enough House points on his own.”_ _

__Harper bit back a smile and looked away. She had indeed relaxed but only slightly._ _

__“You are no longer using this for duels and pranks are you?” he asked quietly. “Now it has a different purpose…”_ _

She looked back up at him and thought of Annie’s wild-eyed face, the harsh slap by her hand, Charles arguing about _something wrong with Ananke_ , the Freud essays. “Yes, sir.” 

__He closed the book with finality and held eye contact, studying her. There was no longer amusement on his face, replaced with something else Harper couldn’t decipher._ _

__“Well, we have three choices,” he told her. “I can give this to Headmaster Dippet, who is in turn required to give it to the Ministry, and we’ll wait to hear the opinion of our current Minister on mixing muggle methods with magical.”_ _

__A hard lump was forming in her throat, but her mouth wouldn’t obey the silent command to swallow._ _

__“I would rather not do that, as it would be a waste of both my time and all your hard work. You see, this compilation is rather interesting, Miss Messier, and very useful for gaining insight into Magical Britain’s next generation. What I should do is modify your memory and keep this for myself…”_ _

__Her eyes closed, not wanting to see him raise his wand, and her lip trembled, waiting for the harsh cry of the incantation._ _

__“...but I don’t want to do that, either.”_ _

__Her heart leapt as a hand flew to her mouth, eyes snapping open and widening. “You—you don’t?” She was too afraid to hope._ _

__“No, and I hope you won’t force me to, because I will if you don’t agree to my terms.”_ _

__“Your...terms, sir?”_ _

__“Yes, such as a vow that you’ll not alter or copy it in any way—I’ll know if you do—and finish it by the end of your seventh year…”_ _

_And then I’ll Obliviate you_ , Harper finished miserably. 

__“...And then you will give it to me.”_ _

__She frowned for a moment, slack jawed, but recovered quickly. “Give it to you?” she asked dumbly._ _

__“Oh, yes,” said Riddle, nodding and running his hand over the cover absentmindedly. “I have plenty of uses for this.”_ _

__“So do I,” she burst out, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her insolence was only going to dig her hole deeper, but she almost didn’t care. This was hers, a creation of only her quill, parchment, and mind._ _

__He held his hands out, palms up. “It’s your choice, dear. I’ve already made clear the alternatives.”_ _

__What choice did Harper have but to buy herself another year and a half? “Yes, sir,” she sighed. “I agree to your terms.”_ _

__Riddle gave her a smile that was slightly condescending. “That’s not a formal vow, Miss Messier. Stand up and extend your hand.”_ _

__As she rose, Harper wondered briefly if she was having some sort of vivid nightmare. If dreams were manifestations of desire, according to Freud, nightmares must be the opposite. This was surely one of the last situations Harper ever wanted to be in, but at least he wasn’t Obliviating her...yet._ _

__Her hand trembled as she held it out over the desk. He gripped it with his own cold hand, wrapping his long, bony fingers around hers. He held up her wand, pointed it at the conjoinment, and ordered, “Speak now.”_ _

__Harper bit her lip before she spoke. “I, Harper Messier—”_ _

__“Full name.”_ _

__“I, Harpalyke C. Messier...vow to finish my behavior book and give it to you, Tom M. Riddle, upon completion of my seventh year.” She tugged, wishing to withdraw her hand, but apparently it wasn’t over._ _

__“I shall not alter nor copy…” RIddle prompted._ _

__“I shall not alter or copy it in any way…”_ _

__He tapped the wand against her hand. A brief tingling, almost painful sensation passed through it, locking her knuckles. As soon as it subsided, Riddle let go of her and took a seat back at his desk._ _

__“You may leave, Miss Messier. I will tell Professor Whitehouse that I kept you from Transfiguration today.”_ _

__He didn’t have to tell her twice. She seized the book, hugged it to her chest, and gave a hasty “thank you, sir,” as she trotted out. She had nowhere to hurry to, as her next class, Charms, was in twenty minutes, but she had never wanted to get away from somewhere so quickly. She was having trouble believing what had just transpired. The book against her chest had been revealed and it now belonged to Professor Riddle. How could she get around this vow?_ _

__“Oi, Harper!” a female voice called. Mel was approaching as they headed to the second floor. “Where were you in Transfiguration? Whitehouse says he won’t give you detention if you go and speak with him.”_ _

__“I was with Riddle discussing my Imperius Curse essay,” Harper lied easily. “He said he’ll excuse me from the lesson.”_ _

__“Lucky you,” Mel said, raising her eyebrows and giving her a sly smile. “Are you sure it was strictly about your essay?”_ _

__Harper blushed a furious red and looked away, realizing too late how guilty she looked. “Yes, of course.”_ _

__Mercifully, Mel didn’t ask her anything else, though Harper could tell that she was dying to. As they entered the Charms classroom, Mel tapped her long fingernails against the book as Harper lowered it to her lap._ _

__“Still writing that adventure, eh? Will you at least let me read it when you’re done?”_ _

__“Perhaps,” Harper answered vaguely. She clutched it tighter as a pang of sorrow took over._ _

__~_ _

_The Oracle_  
_11 December 1945_  
_MINISTER IMPOSES MUGGLEBORN REGISTRATION LAW_

_In a speech given at the Wizengamot on the 10th of December, our Leader has announced a beneficial new law requiring those of muggle descent to register at the Department of Internal Affairs._

_“We must keep an eye on those intermingling with muggles,” our Leader says, “for the safety of our great wizarding world. Now is not the time to break the Statute of Secrecy...we aren’t quite strong enough to defend wizard-kind against invasion, but we are rapidly progressing toward this goal.”_

_2 January 1946_  
_WIZARDS FORBIDDEN TO MARRY MUGGLES_

_In an attempt to strengthen our great wizarding society, our Leader has announced a new protective measure forbidding muggles and wizards to intermarry and bear children. This law serves to protect the magical community against harmful relations._

_“There is simply no benefit to wizard-muggle relations,’ our Leader stated on the 31st of December. We are magical...for what do we need the muggle race? We must all vow to love and protect our own if we wish to be the strongest, most advanced society in the world.”_


	6. So What Am I?

The tiny white hairs on Mel’s arms and back of her neck were always raised these days. After the passing of the law forbidding muggle-wizard marriages, she was constantly on edge. Mum, since her whole family consisted of muggles, had to register at the Ministry. Auntie Bertha was supposed to as well, but she refused, claiming they’d come for her in the middle of the night like the muggle soldiers did in the east. “I’ve seen it all before,” she had declared. 

Meanwhile at Hogwarts, The Oracle had prompted the supporters of the Regime to report anyone who spoke out against it. When she had originally read the news, Mel had dismissed it. There weren’t _that_ many supporters of the Regime in Magical Britain. Turned out, she was dreadfully wrong. About one-third of the students openly declared allegiance to Grindelwald, and that amount contained the wealthiest, prominent wizarding families. 

“Clean the filth,” Abraxas Malfoy and Icarus Yaxley chanted in the corridors, sneering at students of less-than-pure blood. “Magic over all!”

This passed on to almost all of the upper-year Slytherins by the end of that first miserable week in January. By the following week, even the younger-years were touting, “Magic over all!”

Near the end of the month, fourth-year Otylia Masiakiewicz disarmed Isaac Prewett, hit him square in the face with a stinging hex, and called him a “bastard blood traitor.” Later on that same week, Evan Rosier went to the headmaster and claimed that the entire Gryffindor team had been overheard speaking ill of the Regime, calling Grindelwald a “power-hungry maniac.” Some of them hadn't returned.

The professors who were clearly against the Regime were tense and subdued, unable to speak freely. Those who seemed to lean on Grindelwald’s side—Slughorn and Riddle—never spoke freely either, but Slughorn’s blatant favoritism of pureblood students made it quite clear, along with Riddle’s omission of Defense spells in the curriculum. 

“We must prepare for war,” he’d said. “The strengthening of our society does not happen without counter-force.”

To add the icing on the cake, Mel was plain rotten at Dark spells. Her wand seemed to resist her, and she could never muster up enough energy to back up the incantation. Unfortunately, Riddle noticed and spent an entire lesson pitting her against Felix Murdoch, the best duelist in the class. Over and over Mel was stung, immobilized, shocked, and knocked out while the other students gathered round to watch. 

“Once Miss McCready builds up enough negative energy, harnesses enough will, she’ll have reached the skill level needed to defeat her opponent,” Riddle told them calmly while Mel lie shaking and panting on the floor. Her hair and robes were coated in dust, while sweat smeared her makeup across her face. Four-thirty took an eternity to arrive and once it did, she grabbed her bag and high-tailed it out of there before Riddle had given them homework instructions. 

An hour away was supper, which Mel was not planning on attending. She had no plan, really, other than to get as far away from the Defense room as possible. Although it was freezing outside, she stomped through the Entrance Hall and down the hill to the grounds, still unsure of exactly where she was going. The lake was crossed out immediately; she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the biting wind rippling the grey water. 

As her feet crunched through the stiff snow, icy water leaked into her Mary Janes. She knew they were likely to be ruined, and buying another pair was currently out of the question, but she didn’t care. 

When she reached the first few trees of the Forbidden Forest, tears began to pour down her cheeks as her nose ran. Her handkerchief was in her robes, but she didn’t want to release her hands from the warmth of her pockets, so she left her face alone. 

The sky was starting to darken and sounds came alive from the forest as she walked deeper inside. As nervous as she was about the lurking creatures, she couldn’t make herself turn around. Just the thought of getting farther away lessened the weight in her chest. 

“Oi, Mel!” someone called suddenly, causing her to jump with fright. 

She turned and saw Alphard Black approaching from about twenty feet away. Hastily, she dug out her handkerchief and dabbed at her face. 

“Merlin’s beard,” he was saying as he came closer. “Aren’t you freezing? What on Earth were you thinking, coming out here without a cloak?” 

“Wasn’t thinking at all, I suppose,” she answered softly. Now that she’d stopped, she realized she was a bit cold, but she wasn’t about to admit it just yet. 

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, stopping a foot away. Behind him, the orange sun blared in her eyes, casting his face in shadow, so she couldn’t decipher his expression. 

“What does it look like?” Mel replied, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “I would like to be alone, obviously. Perhaps you could run to your dear Leader and tell him that?” 

He shook his head and held out his hands as if surrendering. “I’m not a supporter, remember? I know you’re a bit tense with the new changes and all…”

Mel let out a bitter laugh, looking down at the curled brown leaves poking through the snow. “That is quite the understatement.”

“Well, at least take my cloak if you insist on staying outside. I recommend getting out of the forest as well.” His footsteps crunched against the leaves and a moment later, she felt his heavy wool cloak draped over her shoulders. 

“No, it’s alright…”

“Please keep it on,” he insisted. “You can return it when you come back inside.”

She looked up to see him walking away, his green-robed back to her. “Wait! Alphard…”

He stilled and turned slowly back around. 

“I’m sorry for being rude,” she said as quickly as possible. “Forgive me, I’m just rather stressed about current events, like you said. The disaster that was last lesson didn’t help.”

His expression softened and he took a few steps back toward her, but he didn’t speak. 

“I just haven’t got anyone to talk to about it,” she continued against her better judgement, “and some days it seems I might explode. My family is more wound up than I am, and Harper has pulled another vanishing act. For Merlin’s sake, she simply stood and watched Murdoch destroy me. Where is she now? Ever since Grindelwald took over, she’s been distant from me. Her father openly praises the Regime and I can’t help but wonder if she’s starting to believe in it, too.”

Mel knew that she needed to be quiet, that talking to this Slytherin pureblood boy was bound to ruin her life, but she couldn’t stop. “He’s slowly converting everyone to the Regime and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’ve got to sit here and watch Hogwarts turn hostile and my family dodge danger. Only purebloods have a place in the Regime, so what am I? Do I belong, or am I going under the boot with the rest of the ‘filth’?”

Sometime during the rant, she had started to cry. Turning away, she buried her face in her handkerchief. There was a slight tugging on the cloak, so she assumed Alphard was taking it back and leaving, but then her cheek met his chest. He had his arms around her, hugging her. 

She pulled her hands away from her eyes in disbelief, but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in against him. It had been a long time since she’d had such contact. 

“I wish there was a way to stop it,” Alphard said quietly after a moment. “But I’m simply out of ideas. I shudder to imagine what would happen if I go against my family’s beliefs.”

She didn’t answer, for she was already going against her family’s beliefs by fraternizing with a member of a self-proclaimed beneficiary of the Regime. However, Alphard’s family had the power to destroy both their lives, whereas her parents could only shake their heads and cry. She wasn’t keen on causing that, either. 

Mel pulled away and took a step back out of his reach. “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re scared and I’m filth. We shouldn’t be associating outside of prefect duties.”

“Mel…”

“No, Alphard.” She shook her head resolutely, eyes welling with tears again. “Don’t tarnish your family honor. If we continue, one of us might develop a fancy and that’s very dangerous—”

“I already have.”

Blue eyes met dark brown as a silent moment passed. “You…?”

“Developed a fancy,” Alphard finished firmly. “Because you’re a lovely girl, Mel, not filth, and I don’t give a toss about ‘tarnishing my family’s honor’ or the implications of that. Would you like me to prove it to you?” 

Before she could even process his words, he took a step closer, placed his cold hands on either side of her face, and kissed her softly on the mouth. 

Immediately, Mel’s eyes closed and she started to relax, but then Alphard jerked away and covered his mouth. “Oh, Merlin, Mel, I’m so sorry!” he gasped. “How very rude of me! I should’ve asked first.”

She gave him a pleased smile. He really was so different from the other Slytherin boys. “It’s quite alright, Alphard. I would’ve said yes.”

He exhaled, visibly relieved. “May I...repeat it?” 

This time was even better: his lips were warm and smooth against hers and his arms wrapped around her waist as if holding her steady. Her hands slowly made their way up to his neck to softly caress it. She wanted to open her eyes to see him up close, but that might have been too strange and disruptive, so she didn’t until he pulled away again. 

“That was my first kiss,” he admitted as if excusing it even though it had been wonderful.

“Mine as well,” she giggled before instantly growing serious again. “I don’t want you to be in trouble with your family and mine wouldn’t approve, either, but I would like for this to happen again, even if we have to sneak away.”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Your wish is my command, fair lady. Now let’s get back inside, since it’s nearly dark.”

“Oh...right you are.” She hadn’t noticed that the sunlight poking between the trees had dimmed considerably. Taking his hand, she walked with him out of the forest and across the grounds. When they arrived at the Entrance Hall, they were reluctant to unclasp hands, but they knew they must. 

Even when they departed with secret smiles, Alphard heading to the dungeons and Mel to Ravenclaw Tower, she found that her heart had lifted. She felt lighter than she had in months, since before Grindelwald had taken over. The knowledge of just one person unquestionably on her side was a huge relief. 

~

Feeling like her heart was surely going to give out, Harper burst into the Hospital Wing and stopped short.

“Here for Ananke, are you?” Madam Gurnsey asked grimly. At Harper’s nod, she pointed to the last bed on the right, obscured by a thick curtain. 

Harper was about to take a stride in that direction, but the nurse placed a hand on her arm. “Listen, she was found by Edwina Boot and as far as we can tell, no one else knows about it. Obviously it’s in Ananke’s best interest to leave it at that...but you should notify your parents.” She cast her eyes away and Harper could see how worn-down and tense the old witch was. “She’s...hurt herself this time.”

Swallowing a solid ball of dread, Harper approached the hidden bed. When she pulled back the curtain, she saw Annie glaring back at her. Whatever she’d done to herself had apparently been healed by Madam Gurnsey, but her sister still looked terrible—hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and knotted hair. When Harper tore her eyes away from Annie’s glare, she saw the cloths tied around her wrists, binding her to the bed frame. 

“Come to confirm I’m mental, have you?” she spat. “Well, here you are, then, sister. Go on and take advantage.”

“Hush up and put the theatrics on hold for a moment,” Harper snapped back impatiently. Time was of the essence, and there was none to waste on placation. 

Annie was so stunned, she kept quiet as Harper pulled the curtain back in place and approached her. “Listen to me,” she whispered, leaning down closer to her ear. Annie’s rose-scented perfume filled her nose, triggering the urge to gag, but she gulped it away. “I’m not going to tell Mother and Father. I can help you get rid of it.”

“Of _what_?”

“Your problem…”

Annie snorted in disbelief. “And how can _you_ help me, Harpalyke? Administer the Draught of Peace until I’m an invalid at St. Mungo’s?” 

“That’s what’ll happen if you don’t let me try,” Harper hissed. “You’re getting worse—the last one was when, two months ago?” 

Her sister was silent, which meant she was mulling it over. “But how?” 

As if on cue, there was shouting from beyond the curtain. “He’s been hit with a skin-melting hex, Madam!” a male student bawled. 

“Ew, it looks like cheese,” someone else remarked amusedly. “Don’t stress, Prewett, Felix says it won’t take your arm off.”

“That goddamn Murdoch!” yelled Madam Gurnsey, who was prone to outbursts, especially lately. Either Ignatius Prewett or Felix Murdoch were sent to the Hospital Wing on a good week, and on a bad week, it was both. The amount of attacks and duels had increased dramatically with the start of 1946. Many were due to a constant state of distress, but Harper had more pressing matters than the Regime. 

For now, the tension served as a rouse to keep the two sisters unnoticed. “There is this branch of magic called Legilimency,” Harper said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Annie’s forearm, like Mel always did. 

Annie’s dark eyebrows mashed together as she gaped at Harper, mouth slightly open. “I know what it is, we learned of it in Defense. You want to invade my mind? Isn’t that a Dark spell?” 

“Well, technically, it’s classified as one...but remember what Riddle said about the labels? That the Dark Arts require more strength, thus the Ministry just bans the lot of them because it’s easy to get carried away. What if I used the spell to heal instead of hurt?”

Annie shook her head. “Sissy, if the rumours are true, Riddle is even more mental than I am.” 

“I know,” Harper conceded, “but he knows his magic, doesn’t he? What if he’s right, and I could see what’s causing this?”

And of course the heavier question: “What’s the alternative?” They both knew the answer. 

“Fine,” Annie sighed. “If I let you do it, will you at least keep this entire thing from Mother and Father?” 

“I don’t plan on telling them regardless,” Harper told her, standing up. “Get yourself out of here so we can start. If you can, try to think of your first...episode. What you were doing right before, what you were thinking…”

“I _hate_ thinking of it,” said Annie, puckering her lips up with vehemence. 

“I’ll bet, but it’s necessary. Trust me.” Harper slipped through the curtain and walked briskly to the door, trying to catch a peek at Prewett’s melted arm, but it was wrapped up already. He was fast asleep, his red hair hanging over his face. 

“Got to tell Tom to get that hellion under control,” Madam Gurnsey was muttering as she cleaned up the wrappings on the tray next to his bed. “Oh, goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight, Madam,” Harper responded distractedly, mind already in her dormitory to review the notes on Legilimency for about the hundredth time. Soon she would be able to put them in use. 

A week later, Harper and Annie met in the abandoned Defense classroom and locked themselves inside. They hadn’t an idea if Riddle was lurking around the dungeons, and he definitely would be able to break through Harper’s flimsy wards. He was the last person in the entire castle she wanted to be caught by, but she didn’t know of another room that was free for more than an hour. 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Annie mumbled as she took a seat in front of her sister. 

“Is this ten feet, do you think?” Harper asked, frowning at the area of floor between them. 

“I’ve no idea.”

The notes had said approximately ten feet away to start—any closer, and she’d skip the prefrontal area entirely, causing a mess of indecipherable memories to bombard her. 

Make eye contact...let the blackness of the pupils consume your surroundings… What on Earth did that even mean? She supposed she wouldn’t find out by standing around and ruminating over it. “Are you ready, then?” 

“I reckon so,” Annie replied begrudgingly. 

Harper focused on her sister’s eyes. They were also brown, but unlike her own, they had bits of green in them. 

“Ready... _Legilimens!”_

Absolutely nothing happened. Annie blinked, puzzled. “That’s it?” 

“No, it didn’t work,” Harper sighed. “Keep looking at me and try not to blink.”

“How can I not blink? It’s reflexive, you know.” Annie’s fists reached up to rub her eyes. 

“Yes, I know, Ananke,” Harper replied testily. “But try not to, alright? Ready... _Legilimens!”_

Nothing again, not for the next three attempts, either. _“Legilimens!”_ she yelled, frustrated, glaring into Annie’s pupils.

Finally something changed: everything went black and all sound ceased. Harper knew she was still on her two feet, wand raised, even though she couldn’t see anything in front of her. Flashes of white light lit up the darkness every few seconds like lightning in a clear night sky. Frantic whispers rushed past her ears but she couldn’t discern them. Tentatively, she took a step forward and found herself in the classroom again, Annie staring back at her with a bewildered expression. 

“Brilliant!” Harper cried exuberantly, dropping her wand and rubbing her hands together in triumph. “I got in!” 

“Wonderful,” Annie grumbled, rubbing her temples. “Can we stop now?” 

“Absolutely not,” said Harper firmly, bending to pick up her wand. “We’ve only just begun.”

However, after another hour of either stagnant blackness or nothing at all, Harper began to have trouble concentrating. Her mind drifted to class work, Annie’s last episode, the behavior book… ”Alright, let’s go again tomorrow evening, same time.”

Annie groaned as she pulled herself up into a standing position. “Swell. Looking forward to it.”

Harper ignored the jab and lifted the ward from the room before peering out into the corridor. The right-wing dungeon, where the common room was located, was only a few paces away. As long as either of the Slytherin professors, Cygnus Black, or the poltergeist Peeves didn’t appear out of nowhere, they could get out of there without having to explain themselves. 

The next night, after a long, frustrating day for both of them, they met again in the classroom. _“Legilimens!”_ Harper shouted over and over, and yet nothing happened. She couldn’t even get in.

“What in the name of Merlin is the problem?” she demanded, clenching her fists and pacing in aggravation. 

“Relax, sister,” Annie, who’d been sitting calmly for the whole duration, told her. “Riddle said it takes years to master.” 

Harper shook her head, scowling. It obviously hadn’t taken him years, since he was only about nineteen and could decipher thoughts and meaning in an instant. She let out a breath, shoulders sagging. “There is something that I’m just not grasping,” she said more to herself. “I’ve got to go over the passage in the—”

She was interrupted by the door slamming open, causing both witches to jump in horror. Harper realized that very moment that, in her eagerness to start, she’d completely forgotten to set up the ward. 

“Just what in the hell is going on here, ladies?” Cygnus Black demanded. “You skived off a prefect meeting to sit in an old classroom for _what_ , exactly?”

“Oh, damn, I forgot today was Friday,” said Harper sheepishly, while Annie nodded in agreement. 

“So sorry, Cygnus,” Annie told him, batting her eyelashes at him. “We’ll not be so forgetful next week.”

Whereas in the past he would’ve flashed her a charming smile and assured her it was alright, tonight he merely surveyed her coldly. “I sure hope you won’t. Now get started on the rounds before you forget that, too.”

With a look of hurt and confusion, Annie watched him turn his back and stalk away. “What on Earth has gotten into him?”

Harper shrugged, unconcerned; his behavior was nothing unusual to her. “Dunno. Which part of the castle have you got?”

“Fourth-floor main corridor, you?”

“Astronomy Tower.”

As Harper circled the tower, peeking in rooms, nooks, crannies, and behind statues, she recollected her notes. She knew every word of them by heart, and none of them told her the trick to moving forward inside the mind. Perhaps it was time for another trip to the Restricted Section. 

The next Friday was even more of a disaster. The first few attempts were promising: Harper got into Annie’s mind with ease, but moving forward or even staying in there was a challenge. After around the seventh cast, the streak of luck came to a swift, frustrating halt. She might as well have been waving a tree branch and shouting in gibberish. 

“Argh!” she cried, throwing her hands up in rage. An unintended gust of wind burst out of her wand, nearly knocking Annie out of her chair. “I just don’t know what’s going wrong!” 

“Well, I certainly don’t,” Annie replied, patting her hair back in place as she stood. “Come, let’s just get going to the prefect meeting. I don’t suppose there’ll be any improvement tonight.”

Harper opened her mouth to retort but ultimately knew she was right. She was obviously missing a crucial part of the theory. “Fine. Let’s go, then,” she grumbled, tucking her wand in her robes. 

The meetings were held in a large, trapezoidal room on the fifth floor, which was a hike from the dungeons. The two sisters shuffled silently through the corridors. Annie, who had NEWTs only a couple of months away, was wearing down, trying to keep up the facade. We’re losing time, Harper realized. 

Outside the meeting room, a gang of non-prefect Slytherin boys lingered: Icarus Yaxley, Sequitur Delmont, Felix Murdoch, and Orion Black. “What are you doing here?” Annie asked them curiously. 

They stared at her for an awkward minute until Orion Black offered, “Waiting for my cousins.”

“Fair enough,” Harper replied, tugging Annie’s arm impatiently. “Come on, sis.”

“Wow, on time for once,” Cygnus Black sniped, even though neither Messier had ever been late. They both knew already that it had nothing to do with them. He had a rather short temper and was fond of taking it out on the younger-years. 

“Come on, folks, give me the rounds reports. Prewett, for the love of all wizard-kind, stop provoking Murdoch or I shall go to Dippet and tell him to revoke your badge.”

“He provokes me,” Prewett argued, “because of this blood status nonsense. Our ‘Leader’ doesn’t even believe in that rubbish.”

“Shut up and do as you’re told or I’ll hex your freckles off your unfortunate face,” said Cygnus without breaking stride. “Bones, did you send the weekly report to Dippet, or did your up-in-space brain forget to already?”

“I sent it,” Florence Bones told him, undaunted. Despite being taunted mercilessly for her frizzy hair and eccentricity, Florence wasn’t fazed by much. 

“Alphard, you and Messier need to keep that Masiakiewicz brat under control. This is the third time this week I’ve had to take her to Slughorn. I’d prefer that Dippet not expel a Slytherin, since we’re the superior House.”

Bruin Weasley stifled a snort. Cygnus either didn’t notice or decided he wasn’t going to test his patience. “Messier, can’t you sit with her a bit and, I dunno, brush her hair or something?” 

Harper blatantly wrinkled her nose. The last thing on Earth she wanted to do was brush the snarly blonde hair of Hogwarts’ most hyperactive and undisciplined student. 

“Well, keep an eye on her at any rate,” Cygnus ordered.

“What are you planning on doing about Murdoch?” asked sixth-year Gryffindor Beatrice Winter. Harper looked around and realized Mel was no longer in the room. She’d given Cygnus the rounds reports and walked out. 

“Are you Head Girl, Winter? No, so let me and Boot handle it. Have I got all the reports? Swell, now bugger off, the lot of you. Goodnight.”

“Have you seen Mel?” Harper asked Annie as they rose and filed out of the room. 

Annie shook her head. Once out in the corridor, she pointed up the spiral staircase. “I’ve got the Astronomy Tower this time. See you around, sissy.”

Harper nodded in acknowledgement before turning the other way and walking down the corridor. As she reached the staircase, she heard footsteps very close behind her. With her hand in her robes, ready to pull out her wand, she turned and found herself face-to-face with Felix Murdoch. 

“Sorry, Harper, didn’t mean to scare you, lass,” he said quickly, holding up his scroll as if defending himself. “I just, erm...could I have a quick word?”

She raised her eyebrows at his uncharacteristic shyness, since he’d never hesitated to ask her for anything before. “Yes, of course, Felix.”

“Well, you see,” he said slowly, tucking his scroll under his arm and clasping his hands behind his back, “You know, we—me, the other Slytherin blokes, McLaggen, and Longbottom—are in Slughorn’s club...and he’s hosting this party, see, next Friday the twenty-first.”

“Erm, how nice,” Harper said, trying not to show her befuddlement. Why was he telling her this? She’d already known of the Slug Club, a male-only gathering in the Potions classroom after hours. If she wasn’t mistaken, Riddle had a club as well, exclusively for the Slytherin boys, but no parties. 

“We’re allowed to bring a da—erm, a witch, and I was hoping you’d like to join me?” Felix blurted the question in one breath. As much as a smooth-talker as he usually was, apparently it was only for escaping punishment, not talking to witches. 

“Oh!” Harper let out, for she hadn’t anticipated _that_. She’d never been asked by a boy to accompany him anywhere; that was Annie’s specialty. “Er...alright. Yes, I’ll go.”

A broad smile crossed his handsome face as he winked and with that, he was back to his cocky self. “Swell. Let’s meet in the common room at nine o’clock. Remember the twenty-first, alright?” 

“Alright,” she agreed, still taken aback by the conversation. “Goodnight, Felix.”

“Goodnight, Harper.”

They parted ways and suddenly, going to the greenhouses in the below-freezing dark didn’t seem so bad. Annie was likely to lay into her about going anywhere with a half-blood, but Harper was no above using threats to keep her sister from telling her father. The purebloods were almost all prats and none of them fancied her, anyway. Yes, Felix Murdoch was by far the most preferable sixth-year boy to pass any time with. Harper smiled and blushed slightly, her cheeks warm against the biting cold as she left the castle. 

Fortunately, the greenhouses were not too far away. Entering them wasn’t required—the prefect simply had to circle them both and peer into the windows. As she made her way around the second, Harper thought of being back in the common room next to the fire with a new book she’d found: Dilys Derwent, Healer and Headmistress. 

As her luck would have it, this was the night one or more of the students were up to something: the faint glow of a wand tip crept along the opposite glass window. At first Harper thought it was coming from inside, but then she saw the two dark silhouettes behind the glass—they were outside, on the other side of the greenhouse. 

Crouching so the plants would obstruct their view of her, Harper placed as little weight as possible on her feet and crept along the parameter until she could see the figures. The one closest to her had familiar blonde, curly hair…

Mel, she realized, was kissing a tall, dark-haired boy in green robes. For a wild moment, Harper thought it was Cygnus Black, but then they pulled apart and she saw that it was his brother, Alphard. Her fellow prefect was gazing adoringly at her best friend. How had this happened under her nose? Then again, she had been wrapped up in Annie…

Unfortunately, Alphard snapped out of his love-haze and spotted her instantly. “Oh, hello, Harper!” he called in a fake, oddly-cheerful voice. “We were just, er…”

“I know what you were doing,” Harper said, straightening up and stepping out of the shadows. “You both know I’m not going to grass on you.”

“Thanks, Harper,” Alphard replied in relief, but Mel was giving her a strange look. “And if you could keep it from the other Slytherins, that would be swell, too.”

Harper frowned. “I will, but why?”

Mel made a tsk sound and crossed her arms. “Is it not obvious? I’m a half-blood.”

“So?” Harper heard earfuls from the others in her House about muggles and mudblood filth but not much about half-bloods. “I don’t think too many of them would be concerned.”

“Yes, but the ones who will are closest to me,” Alphard muttered, turning away. 

“And you’re attempting to hide it?”

“ _You’re_ hiding something, too, Harper,” Mel burst out suddenly with an accusatory glare. 

Harper stared at her. Was the charm starting to wear off? “What would that be?” she asked calmly. 

“I don’t know, but it’s _something_ ,” Mel sighed. “It’s silly to argue. You promise or not?” 

“I’ve already told you yes,” Harper pointed out. “But it’s a good idea to rehearse a story for when your”—she nodded to Alphard—”brother finds out, because he’s under the impression that being Head Boy means ruling the entire student body.”

Mel looked like she wanted to argue more, but Alphard spoke again. “I think Riddle’s taken up that position now, but yes, you’re right. We plan to introduce it...soon. 

“Whenever it happens, it’ll be a real horror show,” Mel said grimly. “We need to get back to the castle.”

As they headed back up the hill, Harper thought about telling Mel she’d gotten asked to Slughorn’s party by Murdoch, but she wasn’t sure if Mel would be upset over it or not. After Murdoch knocked her out in Defense, Mel would probably not be too happy to hear about that. 

And of course, she thought of Mel’s shouted accusation. She suspected Harper of something, but she had no idea what or why. Memory Charms did not erase intuition. 

~

Six young wizards sat in the Defense classroom as if about to receive a lesson, facing the tall hooded figure standing in front of them. 

Cygnus and Orion Black, Abraxas Malfoy, Icarus Yaxley, Sequitur Delmont, Felix Murdoch...combined with Felix Lestrange, James Avery, and Victor Mulciber, each in their respective Ministry positions already, Tom already had a strong group of influential wizards. Not bad after six months of teaching. 

His words had to count tonight as much as they did in the letter asking Dippet for the position. He wasn’t too worried—his talent in persuasion was equal to that in magic. 

“Our dear Leader is placing his best efforts into cleaning the filth from the wizarding world, but they are not enough. Word and reassurances expire quickly. The message is not loud enough. It needs to be delivered more forcefully.

“The six of you come from families of the highest tier, and you display the vision of a powerful pureblood society. I will give you the tools to make this happen. Under my instruction, we will establish the proper order.”

They all watched him reverently as he spoke. When he finished, he commanded them to rise and make a vow “to move forward as loyal Knights on a quest to transform the world.” Tom knew he had a way with words, a knack for arranging them to make these little boys sound much more significant than they would ever be individually. 

The first one to take the vow was Abraxas Malfoy. Tom pointed his wand at the back of his hand like he’d done with Messier Two. This was not as strong as an Unbreakable Vow—they wouldn’t die from it alone—but he’d know immediately if they broke it. After each of the six boys had taken it, he told Cygnus Black to bring them back to the common room. 

Though he’d expected them all to pledge, the meeting still had gone better than expected. Their quick breaths, the awe in their eyes, the deference… He was winning this game of chess. 

Once locked in his bedchamber, he pulled off his clothes before climbing into bed. The room was below freezing, so he pointed his wand at the fireplace and watched bright yellow flames engulf the log inside. 

After sliding his wand under his pillow, his hand slid into his drawers under the quilt as he stroked himself idly. Control always aroused him, and since he was gaining more with each passing week, he was in an almost constant state of sexual frustration. Tom hated these urges, hated succumbing to the weakness of ordinary men, but still they persisted, an unfortunate side effect of being nineteen years old. 

Perhaps he should give in and get himself a witch. He could find one in Hogsmeade, but he hated going there. It had been a pointless social chore last year, and he was glad to be rid of it. He could seduce Septima Vector, an attractive forty-something-year-old witch who would doubtless know how to behave in bed, but that might cause a fair amount of drama. He could fetch Lysandra Bell from Auror Training and risk getting her besotted all over again—wasn’t worth it, either. 

Or he could take one of his sixth or seventh-year girls who were of age.

Out of the handful, Ananke Messier would most likely be the easiest. The boys fancied her, finding her “beyond beautiful,” but Tom preferred her sister, who was not only much quieter but had those heavy-lidded dark eyes the elder did not. They gave everyone the impression that she was up in space, but he knew now she was fooling them all. Also, those plump cheeks and curved hips...

Yes, he could take her and she wouldn’t tell anyone, for threat of losing her prized behavior book. He could hold the book over her head, figuratively, and hold her arms over her head, literally, as he had his way with her…

Once he’d finished in his hand, however, Tom came back to his senses and realized that taking a student to bed was a ridiculous, terrible idea. He would never risk his position for his stupid, irksome urges. Wiping his palm with his handkerchief, he resolved to stifle them until they went away for good. He was better than some pathetic teenager. Better than any wizard, for that matter.


	7. Aftermath

"Amortentia is the strongest love potion in the world," Professor Slughorn told his sixth-year class. "One could argue that it's the most dangerous, for there are few barriers to intense, obsessive infatuation. Now don't confuse infatuation with love—it is not romantic in the slightest to be the manifestation of someone else's own desires."

He walked over to the cauldron of shimmering gold liquid on his desk. A dreamy glaze formed over his eyes as he let himself take a deep inhale. "You know you've brewed it correctly when you smell the things you love most. Do not worry if you're unsure of what those are. You will recognise them immediately. Feel free to take a whiff of this cauldron to compare."

Alphard kept his head down; the last thing he wanted to do was inhale a love potion and have to explain to someone what he smelled. He had a good enough idea already.

"Professor, what happens when we drink Amortentia we've brewed ourselves?" Henry Higgins asked. "Would we fall in love with ourselves?"

"In simplest terms, yes," Slughorn replied. "For example, if Felix here drank his own potion, he would have constant thoughts of narcissistic admiration toward himself."

"So no change, in short," muttered Ignatius Prewett, inciting a few chuckles from the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Murdoch shot him a warning glare but looked slightly amused himself. Slughorn pretended not to notice and waved his wand at the chalkboard, revealing the page number they were to turn to in Advanced Potion Making.

"This is an extraordinarily complicated recipe, so I suggest you not deviate from it unless you have total confidence. Good luck!"

"Let's get started, then," Alphard said to his partner, Icarus Yaxley. "Which of us should get the ingredients?"

"Doesn't matter, mate," Yaxley replied, shrugging. "I'll get them if you want…"

But Alphard had just spotted Mel walking toward the cupboard. "No, I'll get them," he said hurriedly, restraining himself from dashing off.

He and Mel stood side by side, gathering the peppermint and powdered moonstone, smiling to themselves. They didn't dare look directly at each other. Behind them, Henry Higgins sighed impatiently, glowering at them. Alphard knew Higgins fancied Mel a bit, but the interest didn't seem reciprocal. He felt a fleeting burst of triumph as he flashed her a quick grin before returning to the table.

To his annoyance, Yaxley hadn't set up the cauldron or done a damn thing, evidently, besides strike up conversation with Delmont and Murdoch over the table behind them. Biting back the urge to snap at them, Alphard filled up the cauldron and began measuring the powdered moonstone, listening to their hushed voices.

"...reckon he's trapped somewhere in the Ministry," Yaxley was saying. "Perhaps in the Department of Mysteries."

"Or perhaps Nurmengard with Dumbledore?" Delmont suggested.

"No, how could he get him there? Think someone would recognise the former Minister of Magic…"

"Well, how'd he get Dumbledore in there, then?"

A silent, unsettling roar swept through Alphard's stomach. So Grindelwald had lied—Spencer-Moon was not safe with his family; he was trapped somewhere unknown. The new Minister had assured Magical Britain that all wizards were safe from harm, regardless of blood status. Had that been a lie, too?

He looked at Mel, a half-blood, and his chest ached as he thought of something terrible happening to her. Her mother already had to register at the Ministry. Will they come and round up all the muggle-borns like what was rumoured to happen in the East? Alphard wasn't sure how much bad news and dreadful woe he could force himself to keep inside.

~

Harper practiced Occlumency every chance she was afforded, which was not many with exams and Slughorn's party coming up. Conjuring a blank wall and blocking thoughts out was easy enough, but the trouble was keeping it up for more than a minute or two.

At first she was skeptical. The book in the Restricted Section, _The Mind As An Unchained Web_ , had stressed the importance of Occlumency, stating that "mastery is required before gaining any meaningful advances in Legilimency." Thus, Harper gave Annie a break from mind invasion and practiced at meals and before bed.

However, Harper hadn't enough patience for mastery. Annie's time at Hogwarts was running out, and with NEWTs on the horizon, chances of an episode were increasing. After a two-week break, the meetings in the old Defense room with her sister commenced.

The improvement was clear within the first few minutes. _"Legilimens!"_ Harper cried, pointing her wand between Annie's eyes. Immediately, all surroundings faded to black with flashes of lightning. She'd gotten in on her first attempt.

Four attempts later, after total stagnation, Harper leapt forward into a flash of light. At first, there was only blinding white, but then an image came into focus: Annie, at eleven or twelve years old, was sitting on her vanity chair in front of the full-length mirror in her room at Number 18. Euporie stood behind her, brushing her thick, dark curls.

"You must always sit straight with your hands in your lap," their mother was saying. "Press your dress before bed and polish your shoes. Remember to smile! You're so beautiful, Ananke. Our pride and joy."

The scene changed into the dining hall, where the family of four sat at the table, eating supper. Annie as still around the same age, while Harper spotted her younger self and realized she did look rather dumb and dreamy from an outsider's point of view.

"I transfigured a mouse into a goblet on my first try," Annie announced with pride. "Professor Dumbledore awarded me ten points, and he never gives points to Slytherin."

"That's wonderful, dear, but you mustn't perform better than any of the boys," Charles told her firmly. "They'll be too intimidated to ask for your hand in marriage."

Now Annie was skipping rope on the pavement in front of the house—she was younger here, seven or eight. Her head turned toward something out of view and her foot caught on the rope, causing her to tumble. She fell hard against the concrete, scraping the skin on her knees and palms. Immediately, she scrunched up her face and began to wail loudly before Euporie flew out of the house.

"What's happened?"

"My—my knee!" Annie sniffled on all fours on the ground.

Euporie yanked her up and rushed her inside the house. Once in the entrance hall, she inspected the girl's bloody knees, frowning. "For Merlin's sake, Ananke," she sighed, frustrated. "How can I take you to Malfoy Manor with your hands and knees a mess? Just what will your father say?"

Another scene flashed: a list of names on a piece of parchment in the girls' dormitory at Hogwarts. Harper squinted, making out _James Avery, Felix Lestrange—_ And then she was falling away, into blackness.

"Harpalyke!" a shrill voice was calling. Someone held her roughly by the shoulders, shaking her.

Harper opened her eyes and saw Annie's worried face inches from her own. She realised she was lying on the floor of the Defense room. "What...what was that list?" she asked, pushing herself up off the cold stone into a sitting position.

Annie folded her legs and sat, too, sighing. "Boys I'd planned on courting me by now. I suppose I can toss it, since not one of them would consider a mental case," she added bitterly.

Harper clucked her tongue and shook her head, not knowing how to respond. What she wanted to say was that it was no loss to Annie, considering the boys on that list were all prats, but she knew personality mattered little in partners of purebloods.

"Harper…" Annie's voice was strangely heavy and directed at her knees. "Why am I like this? Why do I behave so awfully?"

Her sister weighed her words carefully before speaking. "Something is...a bit skewed in your brain."

"Will I be bad forever, do you reckon?" Annie's eyes were wide and teary, like when their mother had dragged her in the house when she'd scraped her knee.

"You're not bad," said Harper softly. "You're sick. Your brain is like any other organ in your body, Annie. It gets sick just like your lungs and heart."

Annie turned away and covered her face. Ragged breaths escaped her fingers and her shoulders heaved. Harper was not the consoling type; she never knew the right thing to do. She settled on to keep talking. "The muggles call it 'hysteria.' They haven't found out how to fix it, but there has to be a magical solution. If we can delve into the mind and break it, we must have a way to put it back together."

The other witch lifted her head, red-rimmed eyes on her sister, as she grabbed her arm with hands wet with tears. "Do you think it's possible...for me?"

"I don't know," Harper admitted, "but I'm going to try."

They sat still for another minute, looking down at their laps in silence. Annie let go of Harper's arm and cleaned up her face with her handkerchief before standing up. "Come on, we've got to start the rounds."

Harper thought about the images in Annie's mind. They were telling her something, but she couldn't decipher the message just beyond her reach.

She thought and she thought, even as she prepared for Slughorn's party three days later, painting her full lips with deep berry stain and sitting still so Druella could curl her hair. She returned the favor, although she was dreadful at styling hair. Luckily, Druella's was already curly, so it was easier to hide mistakes.

According to Freud, the id is the part of the brain where uncivilised urges are tucked away, constantly suppressed by the ego, but never fully relenting. Something could happen in childhood that throws the system off-kilter, but what could've that been in Annie's? Their parents adored her—

"All done!" Druella announced cheerfully, letting the last lock of hair drop. She was giddy with excitement over her latest fancy, Cygnus Black, asking her to the party. Privately, Harper couldn't see a single appealing thing about Cygnus Black, but she didn't judge Druella too harshly. She and Annie were very similar, which was a possible explanation for their rivalry.

"Go look in the mirror." Druella nudged her with spindly, silk-gloved fingers. "You look lovely."

Harper didn't need the mirror to know she looked far from lovely. Her hair was sleek and flawless, but her mother had insisted on buying her rose-colored dress robes, while she preferred plain black ones. These robes clung to her curvy hips, but at least her plump rear and legs were covered by the billowy lace on the bottom half. She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and forced a smile. "Thank you, dear, for fixing my hair. It looks swell, as do you."

Druella smiled back and left the dormitory to meet with Beryl Fawley and her date, Icarus Yaxley. Harper debated whether to jot a quick note about the id and the ego but decided against it. No doubt one of the girls would be back to fix a curl or spray more perfume. She gave herself a spritz of Chanel No.5, Druella's fancy French bottle, before leaving.

Perhaps too much attention wasn't a good thing, she thought as she descended the stairs to the common room. Maybe their parents' attention had played a hand at stifling the child-Annie, pushing her too far… Or perhaps the pressure of being watched all the time… Harper tried to imagine Charles paying her more attention and shuddered, but she'd cast him out a long time ago.

The common room was filled with older years dressed to the nines. They'd all told their dates to meet at the same time, apparently, for suddenly there were people everywhere. Harper spotted Felix Murdoch near the fireplace next to Abraxas Malfoy and Aurelia Parkinson, a seventh-year Slytherin. Murdoch looked sharp, Harper had to admit, in deep blue robes that complemented his slicked-back auburn hair.

"Good evening, Harper," he said as she approached. "You look quite nice."

"Thank you, Felix," she replied. "You're not so bad yourself."

He held out an arm. "Shall we?"

She took it with a gloved hand and they followed Malfoy through the narrow stone passageway to the corridor. The Potions room wasn't a far walk, and they travelled in a pack: Malfoy, Parkinson, Fawley, Yaxley, Cygnus Black, and Druella. Halfway there, they were joined by Orion Black and his date, seventh-year Ravenclaw Halcyon Church. "Have you seen Alphard?" he asked his cousin, but Harper tuned out the rest of the conversation, ruminating over Annie.

Professor Slughorn must have placed an extension charm on the classroom, because it was easily twice its size and cleared of desks and chairs. In their place were lounge chairs surrounded by tables with glasses and plates of various desserts in the center. A record player had on an upbeat tune, but no one was dancing yet, still in the standing and chatting phase.

"Do you see Slughorn?" Felix asked in Harper's ear.

She scanned the room, but the light was very dim, coming from tiny rust-colored bulbs strung on the walls. "There." She pointed to Slughorn's round figure in between two shadowed ones.

As they made their way over, Harper searched for Annie, but she could barely make out anyone's face. Slughorn was going to have to fix the lighting or there would be many an alcohol-induced injury later.

"Ah, and there's Felix and Harpalyke!" Slughorn exclaimed once they were within five feet of him. "Come on over, my dears. I've got to say, Felix is finally shaping up to be a superb student, wouldn't you say, Tom?"

"Indeed," said Riddle, who looked like he didn't agree in the slightest. "He's quite the duelist lately as well."

"Thank you, kind gentlemen," Felix replied smoothly, turning on the charm that helped him stay out of trouble. "Excellent set up you've got here, Professor." He turned to the sallow-faced man dressed in black on Slughorn's other side and stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Felix Murdoch, son of Herbert Murdoch, Head of the Floo Network."

"This is Sanguini," said Slughorn quickly as Sanguini looked down at Felix' hand as if it was a dead fish. "He's a vampire," he added in a low voice. "He doesn't like to touch wizards. It might tempt him."

Harper noticed that Sanguini's red eyes were roving over her body and crossed her arms self-consciously. Nearby, Riddle was glaring at her, too, like her presence was an insult to the party. She tapped Felix on the shoulder. "Pardon me, but shall we pick a table?"

"Sure." He lead her away. "Glad to be out of there myself," he muttered once they were out of earshot.

Harper nodded as they weaved through the chairs and tables. "Say, out of curiosity, when's the last time you pulled a prank?"

"About three weeks ago, I suppose," he said, thinking it over. "Had to slow it down a bit for exams. Why?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Riddle seems to hate us more than usual tonight. Perhaps it's just me…" She trailed off, her stomach sinking at the thought of parting with her behavior book. She'd managed to block it out for a bit with all the Occlumency practice.

"No, he hates me, too," Felix assured her. "He simply hasn't accepted that I'm the best duelist to ever walk these halls and a dab hand at Potions."

"And a modest young lad as well," Harper added, smirking.

He let out a chuckle. "You're quite the card, Harper."

"Why, thank you."

They chose a lounge chair next to Cygnus and Druella, where the Slytherin sixth and seventh-year boys had pushed two tables together and formed a congregation. Harper scanned the group for Annie, but she wasn't there. If she'd been invited, she would've most likely been by Abraxas Malfoy, but since he'd brought Aurelia Parkinson, it was clear she hadn't. Harper felt another tiny clench in her stomach as she thought of Annie's list of boys' names.

After about fifteen minutes of mindless chatter while the girls looked on, bored, Riddle appeared and space was immediately cleared for him between Malfoy and Yaxley. "Good evening, Professor," they greeted, sounding rather like doting servants. Malfoy poured him a goblet of firewhiskey while another hand pushed the tray of treacle tarts in front of him.

"Come, Druella, Harper," Beryl Fawley said, appearing behind the two girls. "Let's sit at that table." She pointed to an empty spot nearby. "Less crowded."

"And less masculine," Druella agreed as they both rose.

"Wait for me, ladies," Aurelia Parkinson called, and the four of them made a beeline for the lounge chairs by the empty table. It was around time the boys and girls separated, since the former wanted to drink firewhiskey and boast about silly things, while the latter preferred champagne and idle chatter.

"Have we figured out why they're all in love with Riddle?" Beryl asked as they took dainty sips from their glasses.

"I suppose because he's Dark Arts Extraordinaire, if you ask Abraxas," said Parkinson, and they all nodded in agreement.

"Oh, look, there's Alphard Black," Beryl pointed out. "I wonder why he's so late?"

"Who's that he's with?" Druella asked, craning her neck to see. "Good Lord, is that McCready?"

Harper's head snapped up and she squinted to see that indeed it was Mel standing next to Alphard Black, dressed in burgundy robes, with long blonde waves tumbling over her shoulder. "Yes, that's her," Harper told her tablemates. "Excuse me, I'm going to greet her."

"Ask her how on Earth she managed to get an invite from a Black," Parkinson quipped, but Harper pretended not to hear.

"Hello, Mel," she said excitedly, clasping Mel's arm. "You look wonderful! I didn't know you were coming."

"Can say the same for you," Mel replied rather unenthusiastically. "With whom did you come?"

"Murdoch." Harper pointed to Felix, who was in rapt conversation with the Blacks and Riddle.

Mel's face twisted into a frown, but no sooner than Harper had blinked, it disappeared. "How nice."

"Would you like to sit with us? We've got champagne at our table."

Mel gave her a look of undisguised exasperation. "You know damn well I'm not welcome to sit with those girls."

"We can get our own spot," Harper offered, expecting her to agree, since the only group of Ravenclaw girls she could see consisted of Lucia Tauriello, Wisteria Lovegood, and Halcyon Church, who were unanimously known as the three swottiest seventh-years at Hogwarts.

Mel shook her head and pointed across the room. "I'm going to sit with them."

Harper recognised one of the girls at the table she was pointing to as Edwina Boot and another, Antonia Longbottom, which was slightly surprising, as Mel normally couldn't stand Longbottom. Before Harper could repeat her offer, Mel was already walking away from her. Harper watched her, confused, wondering what on Earth was going on with her.

Meanwhile, a hush had fallen over the Slytherin boys' table as Cygnus stopped his conversation, noticing Alphard's presence. Everyone watched the two brothers uneasily, apparently waiting for a row to break out. Then Orion begrudgingly shifted aside to make room for his cousin, easing the tension only slightly.

"I'm glad McCready chose a different table," Druella told Harper when she sat back down next to her. "No offense, Harper, but you are much more preferable to her."

Harper knew "preferable" meant more plain, less likely to attract Cygnus Black or another Sacred 28, but she didn't care much. Her real concern was Mel's cold, dismissive behavior. Harper knew she'd been unfairly distant herself lately, preoccupied with Annie, but Mel understood why, didn't she?

About an hour later, after more alcohol, Cygnus Black, Druella, Beryl, and Yaxley paired off and went to the front of the classroom, where a large, clear area served as a dance floor. Not wanting to be stuck alone with Aurelia Parkinson, Harper looked to Felix, but he and Malfoy were still engrossed in conversation with Riddle. Wondering vaguely why Felix invited her if he was going to be up Riddle's arse all night, she decided to reach out to Mel.

She was sitting alone with Edwina Boot, but both were silently gazing at the dance floor. "Hello, ladies," Harper said tentatively. "Mel, fancy a brief walk in the corridor? Reckon I need a bit of fresh air."

Mel shrugged and stood up. "Alright."

Once they were in the corridor away from the heat and noise, Harper took a deep breath and plunged into speech before she could lose her nerve. "Mel, what's going on? You swore me to secrecy about Alphard and now you're here with him without even telling me you were invited? Alright, actually, that's not important. I just feel as if I'm missing something, that you're cross with me for some reason."

 _"You_ didn't tell me you were invited," Mel snapped. "You never tell me anything, so why should I tell you? And with bloody Murdoch of all people after he destroyed me in that humiliating Defense lesson? Where were you then, Harper, when I was snivelling and bleeding in front of the entire class?" Her voice was raising in pitch, cheeks flushed in anger. "Perhaps it excited you, seeing your fellow Slytherin assert his power? Seeing the filthy half-blood get what she deserves in the name of our dear Leader?"

"Shh, Mel, you know I'm not subscribed to that rubbish," Harper hissed, gripping the girl's shoulders and glancing around in fear of being overheard.

"I'd almost prefer it if you were," Mel continued bitterly. "Then at least I'd know you care about something. I'd know you're completely indifferent to our friendship because the Regime told you to be instead of your defaulting to it."

Harper released Mel's arms and pursed her lips, feeling a strong flash of deja vu. They'd had almost the exact conversation before; Mel didn't remember it and Harper couldn't repeat it. She had been distancing herself from Mel, but it wasn't because of her blood status, the Regime, the behavior book, or even Annie. It was because Harper was terribly ashamed and guilty about causing Riddle to modify Mel's memory. And Harper had vowed to accept this violation of the mind. There was nothing she could do to change it unless she wanted to destroy her work and possibly Annie's chance at being healthy. She wasn't willing to do that.

Mel let out a disgusted sigh and shook her head. "No response—typical," she muttered before turning away.

"Wait, Mel…" Harper reached for her hand, but Mel snatched it away.

"No, Harper, I no longer wish to speak to you." Her voice was murky, her face turned away. As she stormed further down the corridor, Harper could hear her sniffling and ragged breathing.

Well, that was a fantastic failure, she thought miserably as she re-entered the Potions classroom. More people were dancing now, half-empty goblets and glasses abandoned on the tabletops. Felix and Malfoy were the only ones at theirs, sipping on firewhiskey and laughing about something. The girls' table was empty.

"Harper," someone said suddenly, gripping her shoulder. She turned and found herself toe-to-toe with Alphard. "Were you just outside? Did you happen to run into Cygnus and Yaxley? Druella says they went for some air."

Harper shook her head. "No, but listen. Mel and I've just had a row, and she stalked down the corridor crying. I reckon she's gone back to Ravenclaw Tower, but perhaps you could—"

"Oi, Black!" Felix shouted from across the table. "Getting a little too touchy with my girl, mate."

Alphard hastily released her shoulder and took a step back, but Felix was apparently joking. He chuckled as he rose from the table and sauntered over.

"Fancy a dance with Hogwarts' finest?" he asked, taking Harper by the hand and tugging. "Come, lass, let me finally give you a good time."

"I...er, alright," said Harper helplessly as he dragged her away.

"Don't worry, I'll find Mel," Alphard assured her. "I've got to find the others anyway…"

He was quickly hidden from view as Felix and Harper entered the dance floor by bodies swaying around them with various levels of coordination. Felix clasped her right hand in his and gripped her waist with his left. She followed suit and they moved rather clumsily for a moment until they fell into rhythm.

Nearby, Harper spotted Riddle next to a bubbly, shouting Slughorn and a happier-than-usual Galatea Merrythought with his arms crossed, watching the room. When their eyes met, Riddle's narrowed in clear loathing, his lips tightening for a moment. Then Slughorn seized his arm and engaged him in conversation.

Harper couldn't think of a single reason why Riddle suddenly hated the pair of them when they'd done nothing to warrant it, so she pushed it out of her head and concentrated on keeping up with Felix.

"For Merlin's sake, Orion," Halcyon Church admonished shrilly nearby, gripping her partner's robes. "Who taught you how to dance, your house-elf?"

Orion was a complete mess, wobbling around with his eyes closed and a broad grin on his tomato-red face. He stumbled into Felix, who trod on Harper's shoes in a haste to get away.

"I'm sorry!" Felix exclaimed. "Oi, Orion, get ahold of yourself, you drunken animal."

"It's alright," Harper assured him, laughing as Orion tried to keep himself upright. It was the first time she'd laughed out loud in a while, and it surprised her how good it felt. The champagne, which had been patiently circulating through her blood, surged to her brain, fuzzing it up slightly.

She laughed and laughed as the tension from the past six months drained out of her. Felix started up again and soon they were doubled over in a fit of hysterics, clutching at each other and trying to contain themselves. Eventually they gave up and collapsed to their knees, wheezing and gasping, narrowly missing Orion lying on the floor next to them. Halcyon Church stood with her hands on her hips, watching the scene bemusedly and shaking her head.

~

Mel knew she should get ahold of herself and go back—not to the party; she was done with that, but to Ravenclaw Tower. Yet she couldn't stop stomping deeper into the dungeons. She knew they looped into the East Wing somewhere, but her only concern was getting as far away from everyone as possible. Unfortunately, the opposite occurred and she landed in the path of Cygnus Black and Icarus Yaxley.

"Yes, I know, ten points from Ravenclaw," she muttered, gripping her handkerchief and staring at her feet.

"Are you alright, Melody?" Cygnus asked in an uncharacteristically concerned voice. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone this late."

"You're right," said Mel slowly, turning around. "I'll just go back…"

It felt like she only blinked and she was sitting on a chair in the empty classroom Merrythought used to teach in. She tried to move, but for some reason, she couldn't at all. Cygnus and Yaxley were standing about five feet in front of her, grinning in the pale greenish moonlight from the window.

With horror, Mel realized she couldn't move because her wrists and ankles were tightly bound with rope. A tingle of fear ripped through her skin as her heartbeat filled her ears.

"What—what's going on?" she yelled. "What are you—?"

Yaxley pointed his wand at her mouth. _"Silencio!"_ Mel continued to shout, but her throat was pinched. She couldn't break the silence. She quickly closed her mouth and tried to catch her breath.

"You look rather nice in this position," Cygnus taunted. "Perhaps this evening won't be a waste afterall. We can both have fun with her, you reckon, Icarus?"

Yaxley nodded, leering at Mel. "Indeed."

Mel's mind was at a complete stand-still; she could only gasp and heave with wide eyes. As Cygnus advanced closer, wand raised, she winced, ready to burst into tears. They blurred her vision, threatening to fall. She jumped as Cygnus' fingers tightened around her jaw and yanked her face upward to meet his. His eyes were the same color dark brown as Alphard's but removed of all warmth.

"Listen here, you filthy little half-blood," he growled, bending low to stare at her as he pressed the tip of his wand into her cheek. "Stay the hell away from my brother. You are not worthy of him, do you understand?"

A tear leaked out as she nodded.

"Say it," he commanded, driving the wand further into her skin.

Her throat cleared and she cast her eyes downward as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am not worthy of him."

"Good girl. If I see or hear about you anywhere near him outside of lessons and rounds…" His hand grazed her breast as he lowered his wand. "You'll find yourself in this exact position except not so lucky. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Mel sniffed, fighting a deep-rooted wail threatening to burst out. Cygnus released her and pointed his wand at her wrists. _"Diffindo."_ All of the ropes snapped apart and slithered back into his wand. Then finally, thankfully, they were retreating.

"Oh, and don't worry, dear," Cygnus went on, his wand pointed at the door. "I'll buy you for an hour or two for Alphard to enjoy behind his _pureblood_ wife's back. So you'll get to lie with him eventually." He chuckled snidely.

Mel's fists clenched but she didn't speak in fear of prolonging his stay. A flash of red light burst through the room and their backs were disappearing down the corridor, the door left ajar.

She didn't dare rise for at least another twenty minutes, wishing to give them plenty of time to get back and settled into the party. It stung how surprised and disgusted she was—she knew that, to them, she was less than a witch, but she'd never expected the Head Boy to display such cruelty to her in particular. Alphard was right: going to the party together was a bad idea.

Between Harper and this, Mel was really regretting not staying in her dormitory, reading Witch Weekly and practising the hairstyling tips on page seven. What had sounded like the dullest Friday night activity was now the most appealing.

A shadow in the doorway blocked the candlelight from the corridor. She jumped as a dark-haired, familiar figure took a step inside the room, but through the dim glow she could see that it was Alphard, not Cygnus.

"Oh, it's you," she breathed in relief, but she couldn't fully relax, even at the concerned look on his face. Although he hadn't done anything wrong, Mel wondered if she could trust him. Was there a part of him that also deemed her unworthy?

"Who else would it be?" he asked as he came closer, reaching for her. "What's happened, darling?"

Unable to stop herself, Mel dove into his arms and collapsed against his chest as more tears came. She wished she could spew out the ugly truth, but she was too afraid. "Oh, Alphard, it's terrible," she improvised on the spot. "I've had an awful row with Harper. I think our friendship is over!"

"There, there," Alphard said soothingly, stroking her hair, which was now probably a frizzy mess. "Perhaps it is merely on hold. After all, we've got a lot going on. Apparition lessons, exams, prefect duties… Maybe it's best you and Harper spend some time apart for a bit."

"You're right." She pulled away and managed a weak smile. "I'm probably overreacting."

He smiled back and ran his soft fingertips down her cheek. "It's natural, darling, nothing to be ashamed of."

Finally, Mel felt her anxiety ebbing away, but just then, Alphard frowned at her jaw, tracing it with his finger. "What's happened here? You've got dark reddish marks on your cheeks."

"Oh, I—erm—er…" Mel stammered, trying to get a grip on her racing thoughts. "I was, er, sitting on the chair like this"—she sat back down, leaning her chin on her hand and her elbow on her leg, though the position was awkward and her robes felt like they'd rip—"thinking, and i guess I didn't realise how tense I was."

Alphard listened with a skeptical expression. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No!" she cried a bit too shrilly. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged and shook his head, but he still didn't seem convinced. "Would you like to go back to the party?"

"No, I'm a bit tired," Mel replied in her best attempt at calm and steady. "I think I'll head to bed. Thank you for taking me, Alphard."

"Shall I escort you?" He held out his arm.

"No," she responded too quickly. "I mean, how about just to the main corridor?" Cygnus' warning was still painfully fresh in her mind.

"Alright," Alphard said hesitantly as they started the walk up the West Wing. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, darling," Mel reassured him. As soon as they arrived at the main corridor, she let go of his arm and gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Alphard echoed, and she could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away, knowing he was suspicious of her odd behavior. She could think of nothing more to say to him at the moment. She could not tell a single soul what his brother had said to her, for it was too humiliating.


	8. Progression, Regression, Repeat

Harper stood exactly ten feet away from her seated sister and raised her wand, bringing up the walls in her own mind. They came swift and strong, forming a field of blankness. After a week of rigorous practice, she’d gotten somewhat of a grip on Occlumency. 

_“Legilimens!”_

Immediately, everything went black and lightning flashed through the air. She took a step forward and dove into a memory: Annie and their parents sitting in the dining hall at Number 18, eating supper. Harper was absent from the table and Annie looked about the same age, so this was presumably last summer when she was at the McCreadys.’ 

Now without her own intruding thoughts, she could fully take in the surroundings. She was almost instantly filled with tension, her muscles seizing up. The look on Charles’ face suggested that they’d just finished a row, but Harper felt like she was missing something. 

Annie’s eyes kept filling up with tears. She kept them trained on her plate, avoiding the disgusted glances their father kept giving her. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Ananke,” he said, voice laced with contempt. “Haven’t you eaten enough?” 

“Charles,” their mother started. 

“Shut up, Euporie. I am speaking to my daughter.” 

Annie dropped her fork and muttered, “Excuse me,” before standing up, face turned away. It was jarring for Harper to see her sister acting like a kicked puppy, so much so that her walls cracked and she was jerked out of Annie’s mind. 

In front of her, Annie was sitting still with her face in her hands, taking great, heaving breaths. Harper realised she was sobbing, pressing her palms against her eyes. 

At a complete loss, Harper pulled her handkerchief out from her robes and took a couple of tentative steps toward her sister. 

“I—disappointed—hic—him so much,” Annie hiccuped, lowering her hands from her makeup-smeared face. She snatched the handkerchief from Harper and dabbed at her cheeks. 

“Who?” Harper asked, nonplussed. “Father?”

Annie gave her a look as if she’d sprouted another head. “Who else was in that memory, Harpalyke? Merlin, you’re thick sometimes.”

Harper wasn’t listening, recalling the memory. It had been saturated with murky yellow, while the one showing the list of boys’ names had been blue-green. Rule number one of memory deciphering according to _The Mind as an Unchained Web: Do not think. Observe._ Colors, sensations, and expressions were more significant than words, especially since the subject often mis-remembered words. The sensations could not be faked. 

She let out a breath and looked at Annie. That memory had such a strong tint—it had made a mark on her sister. Charles’ words, usually tuned out by Harper, had an impact on Annie. 

“You...you’re really concerned about Father’s opinion,” she said out loud. “His approval means a lot to you.”

“Of course it does,” Annie snapped. “One of us has got to keep up our family’s status and it obviously isn’t going to be you.”

Harper ignored the jibe. “Yellow must be shame or sadness. Annie, when you wig out, do you see things that aren’t there when you’re normal?” 

Annie turned away, crossing her arms. “I’m not talking about it anymore.” 

Harper gaped at her sudden withdrawal. “But you’ve got to! Don’t you want to get better?” 

“Give it up already!” Annie shouted, hurling the balled-up handkerchief at the floor. “I’m not sick, I’m _mental._ Nothing will change that no matter how much you invade my mind! My mind invades _me_ when I…” She stopped short, evidently determining she’d said too much. 

She stood, hands resolutely at her sides. “I’m done, Harper,” she said softly, “I can’t do these Legilimency sessions anymore. They’re not working.”

“Perhaps a break,” Harper suggested. “A week or two, and then we’ll—”

“You’re not understanding me,” Annie cut her off wearily, rubbing her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. Ever. It’s getting worse, sissy. I feel like I’m fighting to keep my head from sinking under.”

She brought her eyes to her sister’s. Her mascara had pooled underneath, harsh against her pale skin. Harper wanted to argue, but she didn’t have a valid reason to. What if Annie was right and she was exacerbating the problem?

“I’m getting started on rounds. Goodbye, sister.” Without waiting for a response, Annie turned and left the old Defense classroom. 

Harper stared at the empty chair before sinking her head into her hands and letting out a sigh of defeat. There had to be another way. Perhaps she had enough information— _my mind invades me…_

Once in her dormitory, ignoring Beryl and Druella, she pulled out her notes and consulted them. Memories were tinted when they were associated with a strong emotional connection. Different colors signified different feelings toward the memory itself. Yellow was typically associated with happy ones, but it varied from person to person. Clearly this murky yellow represented shame or other type of distress. The flashback of their mother scolding Annie for falling on the pavement had been a similar tone, except that one had a sickly greenish hue mixed in as well. 

There was a multitude of emotions and colors; the text claimed it was impossible to match them up, especially since the tints were liable to change with age. What was considered a positive memory could morph into a negative one, and vice versa, under certain circumstances. 

The mind is one tricky creation, Harper thought as she scrawled line after line, trying to fit the puzzle together. Little wonder so few were able to learn what really went on in there. She was building a puzzle with an unknown number of pieces, but she was certain at least half were missing. 

_The more memories collected, optimally in a Pensieve_ , the text read, _the more acquainted with the mind one becomes._ However, Annie had just refused all Legilimency. The only option was to train her to remove memories on her own, a complex bit of magic Harper had no idea how to perform and took years to master, and find a Pensieve. 

“There has to be another way,” she muttered to herself. 

“Harper, come,” Druella called, gesturing to her desk, which the girls had turned into a makeshift vanity. “Let me curl your hair.”

“Alright,” she sighed, putting her notes away. Yet still her brain whirred with little else besides colors, memories, and ways to convince her sister to continue the Legilimency. 

~

“The three D’s of Apparition are determination, deliberation, and destination,” a Ministry official by the name of Robin Flute said to the gathering of sixth-years in the Great Hall. “You must _determine_ and move with _deliberation_ to your _destination.”_

All the way to the left, the Slytherins stood in two neat lines, each in front of a hoop about three feet wide, separated by gender. Alphard was in between Icarus Yaxley and Sequitur Delmont, and beside Harper Messier. He was trying to keep himself from glancing around for Mel. 

She’d been acting odd ever since Slughorn’s party, more jumpy and withdrawn. Though she claimed it was because of her fight with Harper, the symptoms didn’t fit the cause. Not to mention, Harper didn’t act any differently, but if there was a greater mystery than what went on in that girl’s head, Alphard didn’t know of it. 

“Psst, Yaxley,” Delmont hissed from behind them. “Yaxley!” 

Trying not to frown in annoyance, Alphard tapped Yaxley on the shoulder. Her turned around with a glance up front. Flute was still speaking, but the general attention was starting to wane. 

“What, mate?”

“Do you think the Knights will have better training than this?” 

“Of course,” Yaxley whispered back. “Our Lord will ensure we are trained properly.”

Alphard heard his words clearly, but he couldn’t seem to comprehend them. Knights? Lord? What on Earth were they speaking of? He wasn’t the only one wondering: Harper was watching Yaxley out of the corner of her eye. 

“Yaxley, Black, and Delmont!” Professor Vector called impatiently. “Close your mouths! The rest of you, pay attention!”

Alphard was restraining from throwing Yaxley a dirty look; he hadn’t done anything wrong. But just then, they were instructed to try Apparating inside their hoops. “Remember!” Flute told them. “Determination, deliberation, destination!”

The Great Hall was silent for a few minutes as the students scrunched up their faces and tried to will themselves inside their hoops. Alphard couldn’t get his mind off Yaxley and Delmont’s conversation, sifting it through his mind over and over, trying to make sense of it. 

Meanwhile, next to him, Harper was standing rigid, eyes on the floor inside her hoop, simply staring. She, like Alphard and apparently everyone else, was too preoccupied to focus on the three D’s. 

After about twenty minutes of nothing at all, Flute suggested a ten-minute break and everyone clumped together before he finished speaking. Alphard took the opportunity to talk to her.

“Oi, Harper, listen…do you think Mel is acting different lately, or am I imagining things?” 

Harper gave him a rueful look, scrunching her lips into her cheek. “I’m not the one to ask, unfortunately, because she’d act different toward me regardless. We’ve had a row, you see.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered,” Alphard told her, deciding to omit that Mel herself had told him. “Would you like to try and talk to her about it?” 

“No,” Harper replied bluntly and moved away. 

Alphard stared at her, confused, before returning to his own hoop. Yaxley and Delmont had paired up behind him to discuss something in harsh tones. 

“What do you think he meant when he said it’s easier to pledge your loyalty than to prove it? How do you think we’ve got to prove it?” 

“Dunno. He’ll tell us, I suppose. We’ve only had one meeting after all.”

“I hope so.” 

“Don’t fret, mate, we must trust in the Dark Lord.” 

Alphard frowned, realising he probably looked suspicious. The Dark Lord? What that what McElroy, leader of the Magic Army, was calling himself now? And just how on earth were these aspiring “Knights” required to prove their loyalty?

As weighted as those questions were, one unrelated one plagued him the most: What was really wrong with Mel?

~

Mel should have been more upset about losing both her boyfriend and best friend at once, but she was only numb. Harper clearly hadn’t been her friend for a good while and Alphard was more like a pseudo-boyfriend. His brother had given her a sharp reminder that their relationship could never be real. 

Cygnus Black was easy enough to avoid—she simply stopped going to prefect meetings. Henry Higgins was delighted with the extra contact with her, even if it was only to pass along her rounds reports. She was not concerned about the repercussions of missing the meetings. She wasn’t concerned about much these days. The sun had burst out and shone down on the grounds almost every afternoon, but Mel’s world was still tinted with grey. 

Icarus Yaxley was harder to avoid. He and Mel shared Defense, Herbology, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration together, which made for a lot of pointed ignoring and side-eyed glances, mostly on Yaxley’s part. During meals, she sat with her back to the Slytherin table. 

And through it all, Harper pretended that their friendship had never existed. Granted, Mel had told her in no uncertain terms that she wanted it that way, but she was still peeved at the girl’s easy nonchalance. Had the past six years meant nothing at all to her? 

Defense and Potions had become a dull affair, passing with monotoned words of cooperation. Mealtimes were even worse, having no one to talk to, and nights, lying in bed with none of the day’s distractions, were downright miserable. Sleep was a merciful escape, but it rarely came willingly. 

Eighteen more days until term is over, she thought glumly as she walked to Charms, though she didn’t know where was lonelier, Hogwarts or home. Mum, Dad and Auntie Bertha rarely spoke to each other anymore, tired of rehashing their worries about the future. 

As she walked into the Charms classroom, she saw that instead of her usual seat waiting for her, Murdoch had planted his obnoxious arse in it, presumably to be closer to Harper. 

“Wonderful,” she muttered to herself, slamming the books down on the only available space, a seat next to Antonia Longbottom. Harper turned and gave her a look that was almost apologetic, but Mel blatantly turned away. 

The lesson passed quickly enough. Mel hung back about, fussing with her notes, to give Harper, Alphard and Murdoch plenty of time to disappear down the corridor. After about a minute, she noticed Antonia was also dawdling, but Mel figured she was trying to catch Professor Gangly alone to discuss something. 

Leaving without giving it a further thought, Mel wondered if she was being unreasonably harsh with Harper. The girl had always been distant; that was a well-known fact. Then why did she have these random, uncanny knacks for deciphering exactly what Mel felt? On second thought, no, she’d gone to Slughorn’s party with Murdoch of all the terrible boys who attended Hogwarts. She wasn’t worthy of forgiveness at all—

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she jumped a foot as it pulled her around to see the plump-cheeked face of Antonia Longbottom. “Sorry, Mel, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, not quite sounding sorry. “I’ve, erm, just noticed you and Messier Two haven’t been glued to the hip as of late.”

“Yes,” Mel replied shortly, suspecting the other of fishing for gossip. 

“Well...you seem a bit...alone, so I thought maybe you’d like to join us in the Arithmancy classroom? I, along with some other Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, am holding a meeting of sorts.”

Mel raised her eyebrows, caught off guard. “A meeting? What’s it about?” 

“We’ve got a few ideas...well, you’ll see when we get there. What do you say?” 

“Alright,” Mel said, since she didn’t have much of an alternative unless she wanted to sit in her dormitory and ruminate on how poorly life was going. The smart thing to do would be to study, but her concentration was abysmal.

“What happened between you and Messier anyway?” Antonia asked as they headed to the fourth floor. “Has she finally professed her undying allegiance to the Regime?” 

Her bitter tone caused Mel to look around in alarm. Unlike the majority of Hogwarts students, Antonia refused to accept the words of the Minister. Undoubtedly, she’d been grassed on more than a few times, but Dippet’s policy seemed to be to ignore it and let the more outspoken Slytherins handle any traitors in their own, usually violent manner. 

So far, however, everyone in the castle had apparently decided to ignore the girl, since she hadn’t been accosted, not to Mel’s knowledge anyway. 

“No,” she sighed. “We’re just drifting apart, I suppose.” 

Antonia looked as if she didn’t buy that but chose not to press the issue. Once they reached Professor Vector’s classroom, Mel was surprised to see that, while the professor was absent, a large group of students from all Houses except Slytherin had convened, chatting idly. Immediately, she recognised Bruin Weasley, Ignatius Prewett, Henry Higgins, Edwina Boot, Beatrice Winter, Achilles Longbottom, and Florence Bones. The rest were younger-years she knew not the names of. 

“I see you were successful in your recruit,” Achilles remarked as the two girls advanced closer. He raised his wand and sealed the door while Antonia cast a muffling charm. 

“Is that what this is?” Mel asked sardonically. “Are you lot forming an army or something?”

Antonia and Achilles exchanged indecipherable glances. “Well, not an army, per se...more like an uprising.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested?” Mel asked, trying to keep her tone cool. “My brother’s in the Magic Army, you know. He’d be honored to shine Grindelwald’s shoes for him with a rag.” A note of bitterness seeped through, and she immediately clamped her mouth shut. 

Antonia, not one to beat around the bush, replied, “Well, you’re not Walden, are you? We know your family doesn’t support the Regime, but I wasn’t quite sure about you, considering the company you keep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mel snapped. The conversation between Edwina, Florence, and Beatrice died at once as they turned to look at her, but she was too incensed to pay them any mind. 

“It means now that you’re not hanging with those two shady Slytherins, we can trust you to keep quiet and help us,” Achilles clarified, then added in a warmer tone, “If you want to, that is.” 

Mel realized they were referring to Harper and Alphard. “They’re not supporters,” she told them, but her defense sounded hollow and flat. She _did_ want to help the Longbottoms in whatever they were planning if it went against the Regime. She hated the goddamn Regime and she was sick of pretending she didn’t. 

“What is the actual plan?” she asked, hoping there would be no more mention of the two Slytherins. 

Antonia leaned on Professor Vector’s empty desk. “So far it’s just been an idea, but we intend to hold meetings to store information and band together in the event of any nasty attacks from Slytherins.”

“We’ll also practice Defense spells,” Weasley added as Prewett and Higgins nodded in agreement. “Since we’re evidently never going to learn any under Riddle.”

“Just how on Earth is he allowed to blatantly teach Dark spells?” asked Beatrice Winter, who was embittered by missing an E, the minimum required score for NEWT-level Defense, by one point on her OWL. “Has Dippet stopped giving a toss at all?” 

Achilles glanced around the room and leaned in to speak. Mel wondered briefly where Professor Vector was and what she thought the meeting was about. It was a roll with weighted dice to speak so openly ill of the Regime. 

“I’ve heard that Riddle has a heavy hold on Dippet. He’s his ‘advisor’ or something of that nature.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Dippet was under the Imperius Curse!” piped up a small boy with floppy blonde hair, a Gryffindor that couldn’t have been older than thirteen. 

“That’s ridiculous, Crouch,” Henry Higgins scoffed. “What do you reckon, Ignatius, Bruin? Do you think Riddle’s on the Dark side?” 

Weasley and Prewett exchanged glances. “Honestly, I’ve no idea,” said Prewett after a silent couple minutes of deliberation. “All I know is, he is bloody powerful. Bruin, remember that muscle-seizing charm? One swipe of his wand had all eight of us locked in place! Oh, right, you were there, too, Mel.”

Mel nodded, shuddering with dread at the memory of her heart and lungs freezing. It had taken a while to feel right after that. 

“I think he’s trying to take over Hogwarts!” the boy called Crouch declared.

Weasley snorted and rolled his eyes. He and the other Gryffindors—Ignatius Prewett and Beatrice Winter—seemed to regard Crouch as annoying and a bit batty. No one took his declaration seriously, skipping over it as if it hadn’t occurred. 

“So who’ll be teaching the Defense spells, then?” Mel asked. 

Ignatius gestured to himself and Bruin. “We’ll help, since we’re in the NEWT class, but the main teacher will be Achilles.”

“Especially since he’s gotten into Auror Training,” Antonia interjected cheerfully. 

Everyone clapped as Ignatius, Bruin, and Henry shook his hand. “Well done, mate!”

“Thank you kindly,” said Achilles, slightly red-faced. 

Once that had settled down, Antonia turned to Mel. “Well, McCready? Are you in or what?” 

She shrugged. “Sure.” What other ways did she have to pass her time? It wasn’t as if she had any friends. 

“Alright, it’s settled, then.” Antonia pulled out a piece of parchment with a list of signatures under large, bold letters. As she unrolled it and passed it over, Mel could make them out: DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY. 

As these words sank into her mind, she automatically thought of Walden, proud soldier of the Magic Army. She thought of the Oracle articles subtly but relentlessly urging the wizarding community to sever ties with muggles, and a bewildered Auntie Bertha waiting in the newly-established Muggle Registration Office. And, of course, the memory always creeping to the forefront of her mind when she least expected it: Cygnus Black gripping her face and telling her she was not worthy. 

_I am worthy_ , she thought defiantly as she gripped the quill Achilles gave her. _I am a witch_. She signed her name in her most careful script: _Melody A. McCready._

One McCready was on the wrong side of the war. It was Mel’s duty to her family to even out the score. She nodded to Antonia as she handed her back the scroll. “Thank you for bringing me,” she said sincerely to her enemy-turned-back-to-friend. Mel wished to tell Antonia how much the inclusion meant to her, but the words wouldn’t come. 

“You’re welcome, Mel,” Antonia replied in an uncharacteristically soft tone. The look on her face suggested that she might have received Mel’s message despite it being left unspoken. 

~

Alphard was not having a good week—no, he was having a terrible, god-awful week. With the end of the year exams approaching, the Regime growing stronger, and the odd heatwave, the Hogwarts student body was especially prone to acting up. Gryffindors and Slytherins of all years were openly dueling and exchanging insults in the corridors, on the grounds, and even in the Great Hall. On the first Friday of June, every free period, which was arranged consecutively from eight-thirty to four-thirty, had a student causing ruckus. 

When the students weren’t creating enough mayhem, Peeves the poltergeist was happy to take over. He took the sides of Houses arbitrarily, dropping Stinksap on the heads of Gryffindors one day and locking the Slytherins out of the castle in the blistering heat the next. Alphard suspected Murdoch had bribed Peeves somehow to target Prewett regardless of which side he was on that day. 

Now he was holding the wire-thin arm of Otylia Masiakiewicz, who seemed to be hurling swear words at him in her native tongue, as he dragged her down the corridor. Over the past few days, staff and students had woken up to large posters adorning the main corridors depicting Albus Dumbledore with a flaming pink beard, top hat, and crossed eyes. “I am an old moron,” the pseudo-Dumbledore bellowed occasionally in a voice much more nasally and irritating than his own. HAIL LEADER GRINDELWALD was usually spray-painted in red on the wall nearby. 

The prefects had been stumped as to who the culprit was until that morning when Alphard realized the pseudo-Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall had a slightly familiar Slavic accent. During his free period, he hunted her down and found her red-handed, literally, on the third floor near the entrance to the Astronomy Tower. 

“We’ve already got negative House points,” she said in greeting. 

“I am aware,” he responded coolly. “Are you going to come willingly, or should I get my wand out now?” 

To his complete surprise, she stepped forward, but he held her by the arm just in case, since she was prone to dashing off. 

He caught another surprise in Slughorn’s classroom after the professor dismissed his fifth-year class. “I’m afraid I can’t do much with her, my boy,” Slughorn told him ruefully. “My evening is filled to capacity with detentions for the rest of the school year. Next in line for Head of House is Professor Riddle, so you can try him.”

“Swell,” Masiakiewicz muttered under her breath, ignored by both. Alphard thanked Slughorn before taking her back to the corridor and letting out a sigh of exasperation. 

They had to hurry to catch Riddle before he began his next lesson. Tightening his grip on the girl’s arm, he trotted deeper into the dungeons. 

Upon arriving in the Defense classroom, Alphard was startled to find that Riddle did not have a lesson, and that he was passing time with someone in his office. Alphard couldn’t decipher the low-speaking voice at first. 

“Professor Riddle?” he called timidly. “I’ve got a situation with a Slytherin…”

“It’s my brother, sir,” the voice said, and that major clue helped Alphard recognise it as Cygnus.’ 

“Enter, Mr. Black,” said Riddle. 

The pair of them, only a year apart, sat with the desk between them, sharing a flask of what smelled like mead. Alphard frowned, confused. He knew that, out of everyone, Riddle favored Cygnus despite not having him in the NEWT class, but this set-up was odd all the same. 

Cygnus glared at Masiakiewicz, dark eyes narrowed in fury. “What have you done now, you little cow?” 

“You kiss your mummy with that mouth?” she shot back, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows in defiance. 

“She’s been hanging up the posters of Dumbledore and spraying the walls,” Alphard interjected before Cygnus could lose his temper. “I found her on the third floor near the Astronomy Tower.”

“Gentlemen, please excuse us,” Riddle said calmly, waving away the flask and half-empty glasses. “Miss Masiakiewicz, please take a seat.”

Cygnus stood, beckoning to his brother. “Of course, Professor. Come, Alphard.”

Alphard hated when his brother patronised him by giving him instructions as if he was unable to follow a simple task. Rather than hang around to chat, he stomped away, hoping to get to Transfiguration on time. 

He didn’t, of course, but luckily Whitehouse hadn’t started the lesson yet. As soon as Alphard sat down and took out his notebook, someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to see Beatrice Winter passing him a note, which hopefully wasn’t from her. She and Alphard shared every class except Defense, and he’d noticed her glancing at him more often lately. He liked Beatrice well enough, but his heart belonged to Mel whether Mel acknowledged him or not. 

_Alphard Black_ , the folded note said in, to his relief, distinctly male handwriting. Holding it in his lap, he carefully pulled it open. 

_Be at the statue of Barnabas Smethwyck on the fifth floor at half-three. It’s important._ There was no signature. 

He looked around in confusion. None of the other boys—or girls, for that matter—were looking back, diligently taking notes. Exams were less than a week away, so lessons were, for the most part, ruckus-free. 

All through the lesson he wondered who’d written the note, unable to focus on the steel-bending spell. When practice rolled around, he jabbed his steel cord half-heartedly while his classmates chattered around him. His mind took a break from the note and returned to ruminating over Mel. Whitehouse, who was nearing 110, retreated to his office to escape the noise after a long day full of it. 

Three-thirty was precisely when his last class, Ancient Runes, ended, so he was a couple of minutes late to the statue. As he made his way there, he went through a list in his head, narrowed down to the Slytherins—who else would want to speak to him?—in Transfiguration: Yaxley, Murdoch, and Delmont, but none of them had ever seemed interested in Alphard for any reason, preferring the company of Cygnus and Orion. 

He included the girls, Harper Messier and Beryl Fawley, but he’d seen Harper’s handwriting many times on the rounds reports, and Beryl was the type to spend hours transcribing in loopy script. By the time he’d reached the statue of Barnabas Smethwyck, Hogwarts alumnus and youngest to ever reach Senior Healer at St. Mungo’s, he had to conclude that the mystery person was likely not a Slytherin. 

To add to the strangeness of the day, at exactly three-thirty, Ignatius Prewett appeared and approached the statue. “Hello, Black,” he greeted coolly.

“Hello…”

“Ready for exams, then?” Before Alphard could answer, Prewett went straight to the point. “Listen, forgive me for getting personal, but I’ve noticed McCready dumped you, and—”

“She didn’t _dump_ me. She simply...doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” Alphard finished lamely. A surge of anger rose in his chest. What business was it of Prewett’s anyway?

“Regardless, whatever reason she told you for it, if any, may not be the truth,” Prewett continued. 

Alphard’s heart began to sink, for he had suspected the very same. “What do you mean?” 

The taller boy stepped closer, cast a wary glance around the empty corridor, and leaned in. “I don’t wish to grass on anyone or cause problems, but I overheard your brother speaking to your cousin about Slughorn’s party last month. Apparently, Cygnus and Yaxley had ‘put the half-blood in her place,’ whatever that means.”

Flashes of that night flicked through Alphard’s mind: Mel’s disappearance, her tears, the red marks on her cheeks…

“I’m sorry, mate,” Prewett told him, looking down at his shoes. “I know you really fancy her. I’m fond of her myself, and I don’t think it’s fair.”

Alphard had enough sense to thank him before turning away, fists clenched, and stomping down the corridor. 

Yaxley, who was Slytherin Quidditch captain, was on the pitch running practice for tomorrow’s game, the last of the 1945-1946 school year. As enraged as Alphard was, he was not going to march across the grounds and disrupt that. Instead he stalked to the dungeons, where Cygnus was likely to be lounging in the common room under the pretense of studying for NEWTs. 

Sure enough, there he was with the other seventh-year boys. For a moment before anyone spotted him, Alphard saw his brother as the cocky, arrogant arsehole the rest of the students thought of him as. Cygnus was clearly trying to emulate Riddle, but Riddle, while also arrogant, was more subtle and distant. “Cygnus, may I have a word?” 

Cygnus smirked and shook his head. “I’ve got to study for NEWTs, brother. Herbology’s on Monday, and you know how many goddamn names of species we’ve got to know?” 

“It’ll only take five minutes,” Alphard pressed with a rare impatient tone. At that, Cygnus exchanged a glance with Orion and stood up. 

Once they were in the Heads’ corridors, a short cement hallway lit by only a torch, Alphard laid into him, letting loose a stream of fury. “How _dare_ you touch my girl, Cygnus. What the hell did you tell her to cause her to avoid me? You told her to bugger off, didn’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you: she is _mine_ and you can’t control me like you do the rest of this school, you hear me?” 

“Whoa there, take it easy, brother,” Cygnus said, holding up his hands as if to block the waves of anger rolling off Alphard. The fact that he was unfazed only incensed Alphard more. 

“No, I will not ‘take it easy, brother.’ Who the hell do you think you are?” 

“Shut up and listen,” Cygnus snapped. “I’m doing you a favor, Alphard. We at Hogwarts are a lot more accepting of half-bloods than the world outside these walls. And it’s _better_ that way. Our family has worked relentlessly to keep our blood free of taint and our status noble! You’d best not destroy centuries of purity lusting after this little nobody, or you will regret it.”

Alphard stood seething, feeling like he was about to explode. 

“Brother,” Cygnus continued, gently now. “There are plenty of other witches for you to choose from. Pureblood, beautiful witches, even here at Hogwarts. Druella Rosier’s mine, but there’s still Fawley and Parkinson. Well, Parkinson’s face is unfortunate, but her body will do. The opposite for Messier Two—pretty face, just take her for a few walks around the lake.”

“I don’t want those girls,” Alphard protested. “Mel is the one for me.”

The elder rolled his eyes. “Give it up. She’ll never be on our level. There’s a hierarchy of blood, Alphard, and just because old Grindy’s hesitating to enforce it does not mean the natural order will never be restored. A select few of the UK’s most magically talented will take matters into their hands and soon, McCready won’t be able to show her face in Diagon Alley.”

“You—wait, what?” Alphard asked, completely thrown off. “What do you mean ‘a select few will take matters into their own hands’?” 

Cygnus shook his head, but a small smile was playing on his lips. “I’m forbidden to speak explicitly on the matter. Just please take my word to heart, brother. I don’t want to see you run into any trouble.”

Alphard’s mind was too busy whirling to form a response. Was such a group in existence? Was that what Yaxley and Delmont had been referring to during that Apparition lesson, with all the talk of Lords and Knights?

“If you’ll please excuse me,” Cygnus said smoothly, “I’ve got to get back to studying. See you around, brother.”

Alphard was still too frozen to reply. As Cygnus ascended the stone staircase back to the common room, a chill passed through him that was unrelated to the damp, underground cement walls. Grindelwald’s Regime had flipped Europe upside down and resulted in murder of masses of muggles and quite a few wizards. Yet if Cygnus was to be believed, Grindelwald was no longer than biggest threat. If this group were to ever come to fruition, danger, fear, and uncertainty would only rise. 

He tried to assure himself that this would not occur, that he was automatically jumping to the worst-case scenario, but a strong sense of foreboding was spreading through his body, taking root deep in the pit of his stomach.


	9. 20th Century Hissy

With the start of exams, the chaos plaguing the castle dimmed to a manageable level. This was fortunate, as NEWTs occupied the seventh-years so much, Harper, Alphard Black, Antonia Longbottom, Florence Bones, and Beatrice Winter shouldered most of the responsibility. The rest of the prefects—including Mel—were either disinterested or too wrapped up in studying to uphold their duties. 

It wasn’t much of a loss. The younger-years were behaving and the dueling between Murdoch and Prewett had died down. Even Otylia Masiakiewicz was exercising control, despite not caring about any previous exam during her four years at Hogwarts. 

Harper had not seen much of Annie, assuming she, too, was ensconced in NEWTs, until the middle of the last week of term, when she walked into the Great Hall and seized her sister’s arm. 

“Harpalyke, please come with me, I need to have a word with you.” Her voice was calm enough, but she looked frazzled; her eyes were bulging slightly and her hair formed a frizzy halo around her head. 

“Alright,” said Harper, since it appeared that she didn’t have a choice on the matter. 

In the corridor, Annie stalked ahead while Harper went through the litany of charms that would be on the exam she was to take in twenty minutes. Once they’d reached the old Defense classroom, Annie pushed her roughly inside and slammed the door behind them. Clutching the desk for support, Harper steadied herself and turned to her sister in bewilderment. 

“Why haven’t you told me about Slughorn’s party?” Annie demanded. “I can’t believe you were invited and I was not!”

Harper caught herself before scoffing. “This is what you’ve pulled me out for? I haven’t eaten yet, you know.”

Annie threw her hands up dramatically. “I simply cannot believe no one invited me! Who on Earth took you?”

“Felix Murdoch.”

She scrunched up her face in disgust, much like Mel had when Harper told her the same at the party. “Isn’t he a half-blood?” 

“Yes,” Harper replied impatiently, gearing to leave. “Is that all, then? I’ve got a Charms exam and I’d like to go over the properties of—”

“No, wait, that’s not all.” Annie gripped her shoulders, and her next words were not indignant but tinged with worry. “I...I don’t know how to describe it, but I feel a bit...funny. Like there’s something building inside of me. My thoughts are rational, normal, but I feel similar to the last time right before I wigged out.” 

Harper’s irritation melted away and she gestured for Annie to sit, hunger and exam temporarily forgotten. “Has something happened over the past few days to make you tense or angry? Other than NEWTs, obviously. Perhaps it’s that.”

Annie shook her head. “NEWTs aren’t any more stressful than regular exams—a hell of a lot easier than OWLs. They’re made into such a big fuss because the stakes are higher, I suppose, if you want to get into the Ministry or teach here.” 

The news was quite a relief to Harper, who was hoping to get into the competitive Healer Training program at St. Mungo’s, but she pressed on. “Alright, so not NEWTs, then…”

“I suspect,” said Annie thoughtfully with a red-nailed finger tapping her chin, “it’s been worse since I found out about Slughorn’s party.”

Harper frowned; what was the fuss about Slughorn’s party? Nothing of note even happened there… Then she thought of the list from Annie’s mind of the Slytherin boys. None of them had invited her for the first time since Slughorn created the Slug Club. Malfoy had lost interest in her and none of the other boys picked it up. “Are you worried that they won’t want to take your hand?” 

“Obviously they don’t,” Annie responded bitterly, arms folded, glaring at her knees. “Otherwise they would’ve asked by now. I’m eighteen, about to graduate, and not even one proposal, as Father loves to remind me. It’s utterly mortifying.”

“Perhaps it will come from someone in my year or younger,” Harper suggested, though she wouldn’t bet on it. “Orion Black’s marrying Walburga this summer, isn’t she? And she’s got to be around twenty now.”

“They’re cousins.” Annie wrinkled her nose again. “What, so Father’s going to send me to marry some Scotsman from his side of the family? I’d die of shame.” 

“Scotsmen aren’t bad,” said Harper, thinking of Murdoch. “And Father’s family is Swiss, aren’t they? Anyway, on the topic of Father, you haven’t got to listen to everything he says. If you’re not married, why not try to work for the Ministry? Your marks are alright, and perhaps you’ll find a decent bloke there.”

Annie was shaking her head before the end of the sentence. “Proper pureblood witches are married _by the time they’ve reached adulthood._ Mum was married by seventeen.”

Harper shuddered at the thought of being married now on top of everything else. No wonder Annie was cracking under the pressure. “Annie, just focus on your NEWTs for now. Your marks will be enough to impress even Father.” 

“They will not. You know he doesn’t care about that rubbish, otherwise you’d be the star of the family.”

“Well, you haven’t got to be the best at everything. Do you really reckon Father will no longer love you if you’re not exactly the way he wishes?” 

The silence said it all. Harper had thought Annie’s boggart would be herself, old, ugly, or deformed, but she had a vague suspicion that it was Charles telling Annie he didn’t love her. How terribly sad, Harper thought, since she doubted Charles was capable of loving anyone but himself. She hadn’t a single word of comfort, so she settled on taking Annie’s hands in her lap and squeezing them. They were trembling slightly. 

Annie let out a sigh of defeat and asked wearily, “Do you see now, sissy? It’s not about marks, not about some silly fancy. My future is at stake. I’m not brilliant and confident like you. All I’ve got is my looks, and alright, I’m clever enough, but what does it matter if my own mind turns against me? Who would love someone drugged up on Draught of Peace all the time?” 

“That’s why you’ve got to let me help you,” Harper said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “What if it works?” 

“And if it doesn’t? It’s a constant battle, Harper, one that rages day and night, whilst taking a NEWT or sitting in the bath. It’s relentless.”

“But imagine the battle’s finished,” Harper said, clasping her sister’s hands. She realised she’d been wrong; the mustard yellow tingeing Annie’s memory was not sadness or regret, but fear. It was as if her boggart consisted of these images laid out like tarot cards, spurring her feelings of inadequacy. “Imagine you’ve won, that you’re married and working at the Ministry, or at home with a baby.”

“No,” Annie whispered, shaking her head jerkily, eyes sparkling with tears. “It’s impossible now.”

“Annie, if we just—”

“No, Harpalyke, this conversation is over.” Her face was crumbling as she covered it with her hands, hunching over. “It’s over.” Abruptly, she stood up and turned away. 

Harper reached for her. “Annie…”

“No.” She flung an arm back, pushing Harper’s hand away. “No…”

She ran out, shaking with sobs. Harper followed, but she was taking light steps to avoid adding even more noise to the corridors. Both Riddle and Slughorn were undoubtedly holding exams, and Slytherin had just gotten their House point count back to zero. By the time Harper reached the fork between Right and Left Wing dungeons, Annie had disappeared from sight. A look at her watch told her that she was a minute past the start of her own exam. It would take at least a few minutes to get to Gangly’s classroom and that’s if she legged it. 

She hadn’t a choice but to abandon chasing Annie and dash to the second floor. Running, or any other athletic activity for that matter, was a joyless affair for Harper. Add the steep staircase and Peeves trailing after her and she felt as if she was in hell on Earth. 

“Harpy Larky is supposed to be in claaass!” Peeves crooned, swiping at her hair, tangling it up. “Harpy Larky is going to fail her exaaam!” 

“Please bugger off,” she breathed, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest via her mouth. Finally, she turned the corner and saw the last student entering the classroom. He turned as she approached, panting. It was Yaxley, who gave her a snide smile as he held the door open and waved her in. 

“Thank you, Icarus,” she told him as she passed but looked over her shoulder; she trusted Yaxley as far as she could throw him, and he wasn’t small. 

“Please take your seats, wizards and witches,” Professor Gangly said briskly at the front of the room. “And clear your tables of all else besides quills and ink. You will have one hour for the written portion, after which the practical will commence. Good luck.”

As he passed around the exams, Harper cast a look out of the side of her eye at Mel, who sat at the next table with Antonia Longbottom. They’d been passing time often together, Harper noticed, but she knew she had no business feeling envious. It was better this way—she couldn’t be the friend Mel needed. 

“Here, Harper,” Beryl Fawley said from beside her, plopping the exam leaflets on the desk. Harper took one and passed them on to Alphard Black.

Luckily, she was able to block out the pressing matter of Annie enough to focus on the exam, but once she’d completed her last spell, she gathered her things and raced out of there rather than wait around to find out when Gangly would be posting the results. One of her classmates would tell her. Right now, she had to make sure Annie was alright.

Unfortunately, the quickest way to verify that was to catch Cygnus Black, who was walking deeper into the dungeons from Potions, presumably to chat with Riddle, as he was prone to doing so whenever he wasn’t taking a NEWT. 

“Excuse me, Cygnus,” she said, tapping his shoulder. “Have you seen Ananke?” 

He shook his head. “She’s not taking Potions.”

“I know, but she was in Transfiguration with you, yes? Did she take the exam?”

She couldn’t blame him for the confused look on his face, for this was not how she usually behaved toward him. “As far as I know, yes. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” 

“I went to the common room, but she wasn’t…” She trailed off mid-explanation and walked off, wondering if perhaps Annie had gone to the grounds to sit on a rock and dip her feet in the lake. Sometimes, she’d said, the calm, still water helped her relax. 

“Silly, spacey girl,” she heard Cygnus mutter as they walked off in opposite directions.

Annie was not there, either, but since it was confirmed that she was well enough to take her last NEWT, which surely involved a great deal of mental strength, Harper supposed her sister would be alright. Her last meal was breakfast six hours ago, so she was terribly hungry. She needed to go to the Great Hall and eat before her next exam, Herbology. After that, Astronomy at midnight and Ancient Runes ten o’clock tomorrow. Then, blessedly, she would be done. 

Without the weight of worrying about Annie, Harper had no problem with her Herbology exam. The first part was easy, simply feeding and pruning the plants they’d worked with all term. Then Groot led them back into the castle to an empty classroom for the written portion, which was more difficult. The challenge with Herbology lie not with magical talent but memorisation of hundreds of different plant species in Latin binomial nomenclature. Harper’s trick was to associate the names with similar-sounding English words to help her remember them better. 

She was confident and pleased at the prospect of perhaps earning an Outstanding until fifteen minutes before the end of the exam, when a tiny, pimple-faced boy waltzed into the classroom. 

“May I help you, young man?” Groot asked, raising an eyebrow over her thick glasses. 

“Headmaster Dippet has requested the presence of Harpalyke Messier in his office, madam,” the boy told her in a prepubescent whine. 

As expected, everyone paused from their exams to turn their heads toward a bewildered Harper. “We’re in the middle of an exam here,” Groot snapped as if that wasn’t obvious. 

“Headmaster Dippet has requested the _urgent_ presence of Harpalyke Messier in his office, madam,” the boy amended with a hint of sarcasm, which the professor either ignored or didn’t catch. Sighing, she turned to Harper. 

“How many more questions have you got?” 

“Eight more, madam.”

Groot waved her hand as if to dismiss the annoyance. “I’ll adjust the score, then. Bring it here and go to the headmaster.”

“Yes, Professor.”

As soon as the door shut behind them in the corridor, Harper demanded of the boy, “What does he want with me?” 

“Haven’t the faintest, but Riddle’s there, too, so I reckon you’re in a large bucket of troll dung.”

Harper glared at him, appalled, as he flounced away chuckling to himself, but her mind was racing. Dippet _and_ Riddle were waiting for her? Though Annie’s confession was at the forefront of her mind, she immediately thought of the behavior book. She’d been working on it diligently, but her real focus lately was on the scrolls of parchment she recorded her notes from _The Mind as an Unchained Web_ and Legilimency. Riddle, or anyone else for that matter, would have to pry those from her cold, dead hands. 

She’d never been to the Headmaster’s Tower, only knowing that it was on the seventh floor and guarded by a giant stone gargoyle. When she reached it, she realised she had no idea how to make it grant her entry. 

“I need to speak with Headmaster Dippet, please,” she said as clearly as possible. The statue didn’t move, but she could swear it was gazing down on her curiously. “I’ve been sent here,” she added. “My name is Harpalyke Messier.”

I should’ve began with that, she thought as the gargoyle stepped aside. Beyond was a moving spiral staircase that, due to the large circular skylight near the top, appeared to be ascending to the heavens. When Harper climbed upon it, she was taken to a small platform in front of oak double-doors. After a deep inhale and slow exhale, she raised her fist and knocked. 

The doors instantly swung open to reveal the headmaster’s large, circular office. The boy had omitted partial information: Dippet and Riddle were there but also Slughorn and Klara Verdanyan, the Ancient Runes professor, not to mention the roughly six hundred portraits of headmasters past, all awake and watching in interest. 

“Ah, Ananke!” Dippet greeted, holding out his arms. “Do come in, my dear.”

“That’s Harpalyke,” said Slughorn out of the side of his mouth.

“Miss Messier,” Dippet revised, “I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid your sister is in the Hospital Wing.”

“Is—is she alright, sir?” Harper asked nervously before scolding herself for asking such a dumb question. Of course she wasn’t, otherwise there wouldn’t be a need for this impromptu congregation. 

“Well, according to Madam Gurnsey, she hasn’t sustained any serious physical injury, but she is rather...worked up.”

“She was taking my NEWT,” Verdanyan explained, heavy eyebrows slanted up in sympathy. “I reckon the poor dear’s nerves got the best of her. She tries so very hard to maintain her status as my top student. But oh, the yelling and the thrashing on the floor...she said such wicked things. It was almost as if she’d been temporarily possessed.”

Harper’s head felt as if it would detach from her neck and float through the open window. She bent her knees a fraction and clutched her thighs, trying to steady her breath. 

“Now, now, Klara, we don’t want to give her a fright,” Slughorn was saying. “Harpalyke is juggling exams as well.”

“Miss Messier, please take a seat,” said Riddle firmly, pointing at a velvet-covered chair in front of the grand desk. 

“Yes, please do,” Dippet agreed, blinking and looking around as if he’d just returned from a trance-like state. “The reason I’ve summoned you, Miss Messier, is to inform you of your sister’s condition. I’ve just sent a letter to your parents as well. Professor Verdanyan has graciously offered you a listening ear, should you feel overwhelmed with this...unexpected turn of events. Since your sister will be taken to St. Mungo’s, you may have to—” 

“St. Mungo’s?” Harper blurted, feeling her eyes widen. “You’re sending Ananke to St. Mungo’s?”

For a moment, Dippet looked at her as if she, too, had gone mad but quickly rearranged his face to a calm expression. “Why, yes, dear, that is the appropriate place for her at this time. We at Hogwarts are, unfortunately, unequipped to deal with such behavior.”

“Madam Gurnsey has done all she could,” Verdanyan assured her gently, “but she hasn’t much experience with the mental aspect of Healing, you see. Not many do.”

“No, she can’t go there!” Harper cried, abandoning formality. She sprang to her feet, shaking her head frantically. “Please don’t send her there, Headmaster! They won’t help her!”

“Take your seat, Miss Messier,” Riddle ordered. 

She obeyed, but still she shook her head, eyes bulging in desperation. 

“You must understand, my dear,” said Dippet, disregarding her outburst, “that not only must we protect Ananke’s safety, but the safety of her peers as well. I’ve been alerted that she’s attacked another student before. What was her name, Horace?” 

“Wilhelmina Grubbly.”

Harper gazed down at her hands clasped in her lap, giving the impression that she was calming down and considering Dippet’s words. A second later, she twisted in her seat, jumped up, and hurtled out of the room, ducking slightly. She burst through the double-doors and leapt off the platform onto the staircase, landing on her feet about halfway down. Her ankles, screaming in pain, gave out and she rolled the rest of the way down, clutching her head to prevent it from slamming against the bannister. 

“Miss Messier, get back here _now_ ,” someone was calling as a shot of red light narrowly missed her shoulder.

“Tom, you can’t use magic against students!” Verdanyan squawked from somewhere above. 

“Have you got a better solution, Klara?”

Harper was not going to stick around for the answer. Not knowing how to prompt the gargoyle to move from the rear, she slid feet-first through the narrow gap between its legs. Anyone walking through the corridor would’ve been treated to the sight of her plain pink knickers and lily-white thighs, but she was more concerned about the thundering of the professors’ advancing footsteps. 

At last she was in the corridor. She legged it out of the Headmaster’s Tower as fast as she could, which was not nearly fast enough, she felt. However, she seemed to be losing them, and by the time she reached the first floor, she could no longer hear them behind her. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she turned the corner to the Hospital Wing and slammed directly into Felix Murdoch, who held onto her just as she tripped over a foot and nearly fell face-first onto the floor. 

“I’m sorry, Felix,” she gasped, doubling over with a hand over her thumping heart. 

“It’s alright, lass,” he told her genially. “Are you looking for your sister?” 

She straightened up, ignoring her heaving lungs. “Yes! Is she...still...in the—in the hosp—”

To her horror, Felix shook his head and pointed behind her. “I think they’re taking her outside the castle.”

Harper whipped around, took a few steps backward, and looked down the main corridor. At the very end, she could make out a cluster of green-robed figures disappearing into the Entrance Hall. 

Though she should have thanked Felix, Harper took a deep breath and dashed out of the corridor without another word. When she was about halfway there, the main entrance doors started to open. 

“Wait!” she shrieked, but they either didn’t hear her or ignored her. By the time she reached the Entrance Hall, the last green-robed back walked out of the castle and the doors slammed closed behind them. Harper ran into the door, nearly knocking herself unconscious, and pounded frantically upon it, to no avail—she was too late. 

“Damn!” She turned away, then froze; she was facing the luggage room, where the Mr. Pringle, the rarely-seen caretaker of the castle, brought the trunks in from the Hogwarts Express. Catching a second wind, Harper ran through it and pushed the smaller double-doors open, revealing the grounds. Momentarily blinded by the white-hot sun, she ducked her head, covered her eyes, and stepped over the threshold, reaching out. Just as she was about to let out another bellow of “Wait!” her entire body froze on its own accord. She stood as still as a statue, hand extended. 

She’d been hit with a Full-Body Bind Curse, by whom she didn’t know. Pitifully, she watched the green-robed figures skirt the Forbidden Forest and approach a point out of her view.

“This is exactly why we must use magic on students,” a familiar voice drawled, almost in a sing-song. A moment later, Riddle appeared in front of her, his wand raised. His smirk was the last thing she saw before everything went black. 

When Harper opened her eyes again, she was looking up, head tilted back, at a wooden-paneled ceiling. She did not recognise where she was, though she was aware of having been in the room before. After a split-second, she realised she was reclined on an armchair. Slowly, she raised herself up with her elbows. 

She was in Merrythought’s office—no, Merrythought wasn’t there anymore. It was Riddle’s now, and there he was, sitting at the desk, watching her. He gently placed his wand on the desk in front of him, next to her own. 

“Feeling better after your rest?” he asked somewhat mockingly, but she wasn’t listening, for the situation had just come rushing back to her. _Annie was being taken to St. Mungo’s._

Without a second of hesitation, Harper leapt from the chair and ran to the door, seizing the knob. Of course it didn’t open; presumably, Riddle had anticipated her reaction. Letting out a howl of frustration, she slammed her fists onto the heavy wood. 

“Don’t make me curse you, Messier,” Riddle threatened, rising from his seat.

“Let me out of here now!” she yelled in response, not concerned in the slightest about the consequences of shouting at a professor. “Let me go!”

A hand gripped her shoulder, turning her around. Riddle had left his desk and crept up behind her. He raised his wand to her face. Reflexively, she slapped it out of his hand and turned back to beat on the door. “Open this door right now! They’re not going to help her!”

He was holding her shoulders with both hands now, shaking her, but she thrashed about, slamming her palms against his chest in an attempt to get him away. “How dare you stop me! They’re going to ruin everything I’ve done for her and she’ll be worse than before! I was so close and you know it, Riddle, you _know_ it!” 

Her foot connected with his shin and he stumbled, taking her down with him. They collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathing heavy. Harper mistakenly thought that she, having been fed adequately since birth as opposed to undernourished in an orphanage, would be stronger, more solid, but she couldn’t seem to fight him off. 

With finality, he seized her wrists and pinned her to the floor, leaning over her. Chest heaving, she ceased fighting and locked eyes with him. He didn’t seem angry, or angry enough for having just been kicked, anyway. On the contrary, he was gazing at her curiously, head tilted to the side. A lock of dark hair had sprung loose and hung over his forehead. 

A couple of minutes passed like that, both of them catching their breaths, silently surveying each other, until they heard a voice from beyond the office calling, “Professor Riddle?” 

_“Get in the chair,”_ Riddle hissed before releasing her and rising to his feet. 

Oddly, it didn’t even occur to Harper to disobey. She made her way to the chair in front of the desk as Riddle snatched his wand from the floor and pointed it at her. _“Silencio!”_

Her throat felt as if it was being pinched. She let out a hum but no sound came out, glaring at him as he tucked both of their wands in his robes and opened the door. 

“Ah, hello, Cygnus,” he said before slamming it shut behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice was muffled but she could’ve made out more words had she wanted to. However, she had no interest, for she was sinking into a pit of despair. 

This was it, it was all over. There was no way to help Annie now. All of that practice of Legilimency...they’d been so close…

Harper realised she was weeping. She wiped her eyes as a surge of anger washed through her. How dare they stop her when they knew how much was at stake? How dare they force Annie against her will when she was of age? As swotty and condescending as she could be, Annie was the only one Harper had, especially now that Mel had decided she wasn’t a good enough friend. 

Emitting a silent _goddamn it_ , her hand curled around the heaviest thing on Riddle’s desk, a sea-green glass ball used as a paperweight. On impulse, she hurled it with all her might, teeth bared, toward the empty fireplace. Instead of hitting the brick with a satisfying thud and shattering as expected, the ball stopped in mid-air and burst into thousands of tiny incandescent slivers in various shades of green. They were all beautiful: turquoise, hunter, spring grass, mer-tail, lime, acid, even the exact color of her robe. 

“Wow,” she mouthed, dazzled away from her rage as she wiped her cheeks. She felt the tension ebbing from her body. The slivers were twinkling at her and apart from being wonderously-colored, they soothed her almost immediately.

Eventually, the sight lost its novelty and her ears picked up on the muffled conversation taking place in Riddle’s empty classroom. 

“...don’t know if he’ll manage,” Cygnus Black was saying. 

“Well, he’d better,” said Riddle’s clipped voice. “Otherwise he can forget about earning the status he so desperately craves. Relay this to him and tell him his deadline is the end of this month.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Harper frowned; did Black just call Riddle “my Lord”? No, she must have misheard. What the hell would Riddle be “Lord” of, the Chamber of Secrets? A small smile spread her lips before her anger at him and the situation returned full-swing. 

She looked around the office, desperate to get out. On the mantel she spotted a small glass basin filled with Floo Powder. Just as she stood up to move toward it, the doorknob turned. 

“Please excuse me, Cygnus. I’ve got an important matter I must attend to.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

When Riddle opened the door, Harper was sitting with her hands clasped together and a feigned-innocent look on her face despite the blazing pieces of his paperweight floating around her head. 

He raised his eyebrows as he took in the scene. Out of the corner of her eye, she was glaring a hole into his head. He paid no attention, waving his wand. At once, the shimmering slivers fused together back into its original glass sphere, landing with a thunk back onto the stack of parchment. 

“Hmm, what to do with you, Miss Messier?” Riddle asked in the irritating pseudo-pleasant tone he used when he was refraining from cursing her. “Any ideas? No?” 

Harper continued to glare at him with fury; he knew damn well she couldn’t answer. Why did he insist on toying with her? 

With a lazy flick of his wand, he cleared her throat. She let out a hum just for the sake of it. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he said after another awkward moment of staring. “I’ll let you go without punishment, since you’re obviously under duress. Perhaps you’ll have a rest in the Hospital Wing.”

She shook her head, thinking of her Astronomy exam, which she hadn’t studied for recently. “No, sir, I’ll be fine.” Eying the paperweight, she wondered vaguely if its purpose was indeed to be thrown, and how often Riddle hurled it in anger himself. 

“Whatever you wish, Miss Messier. You are dismissed.”

With aching, creaky legs, she rose from the chair. “May I have my wand back, please?” 

He held it out to her, but as soon as she reached for it, he pulled it up and away, that aggravating smirk playing on his lips. “Just remember, dear, that if you ever behave in such a manner again on Hogwarts grounds, I will escort you to St. Mungo’s myself. Is that clear?” 

Harper fought to keep her face blank, hand still extended. “Yes, sir.” _I hate you_ , she thought against her better judgement, knowing he could feel the sentiment if he wanted to. 

As soon as he lowered her wand, she snatched it out his hand and turned her back. “Goodnight, Professor,” she said as she stalked out of his office. 

What a long, awful day, and it was still not over, as she had to study. However, when she sat at her desk in the girls’ dormitory, she saw in her Astronomy notes that the exam was the twenty-second and today the twentieth, so it would not be this midnight. “Hmm,” she said to herself, reclining in her seat. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in Druella’s mirror and recoiled. 

She hadn’t run into anyone in the short walk from the Defense classroom, which was fortunate, judging by her appearance. Her eyelids were red and puffy, her hair a tangled mess. It seemed like too much effort to reach for Druella’s hairbrush and fix it. Perhaps a rest would do after all. Just as she decided to climb into bed, Druella and Beryl appeared. 

Harper turned to them, lips pursed in defiance, daring them to make a comment in regards to Annie, but Druella merely beamed at her as if she was just the person they’d wanted to see. “Ah, there you are, Harper! Let’s fix you up and we can take an afternoon stroll. It’s absolutely lovely outside.”

She grasped her hairbrush, held Harper’s head steady, and brushed while Beryl changed out of her uniform into white robes with tiny pink roses sewn onto them. Once the three of them were changed and trussed up, they walked to the grounds. Harper was sandwiched between the two girls, each holding her hand. Luckily, they only spoke of exams and holiday plans, perhaps sensing that Annie was an off-limits subject for now. 

Later, after the stroll, they returned to the Great Hall for supper. Harper found that she had no appetite, so she only picked at her food, taking a tiny bite here and there. Many of her cohorts were glancing at her, conversing in hushed tones, but she paid no attention. 

Her mind was continually rehashing the previous few hours: the meeting in Dippet’s office, the icy feeling in her gut when she’d heard the words St. Mungo’s, running until her chest was about to burst, the green-robed figures disappearing, Riddle’s mockery, the tears, shimmering particles, _yes, my Lord…_

She pushed her plate away, propped her elbows on the table, and sank her head into her hands, unconcerned about propriety. She was exhausted and probably should’ve retired for the night. 

A small fluttering near her ear caused her to startle. A tiny origami bird was perched on her shoulder, crinkling its paper wings. Harper unfolded it to read a note, immediately recognising Mel’s handwriting:

_I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised._

~

For the first time, Dippet had invited Tom to a conference with a student’s parents. They didn’t happen often, and the usual protocol was the student’s Head of House to attend. However, Slughorn had a cluster of students in detention at 8:15 this evening, and it was Tom who had been directly involved in some of the events to be discussed. 

On the way to the Headmaster’s Tower, he spotted two little brats in a small corner near the Room of Hidden Things in duel stance, wands raised. Just as Tom opened his mouth to scold them, one yelled, _“Rictusempra!”_ and sent the other flying. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tom snapped, raising his own wand, ready to disarm the caster. 

The swot had the nerve to give him a defiant look as he turned toward him. Then, as he recognised who he was looking at, his eyes widened and his face paled. Something Dorsey, his name was, a third-year. “We were just messing around, Professor!” he assured. “Nothing serious!”

The other boy groaned dramatically as he rose to his feet. Once he, too, recognised Tom, he went still. Tom took a moment to soak up the fear. It was minimal, but any was preferable to none. The last fear-inducing episode, featuring Otylia Masiakiewicz, was enough to sustain him all summer. How wide her blue eyes had gotten, how filled with fright, when he’d yanked her head back by her hair and stuck his wand in between her neck and jaw. He’d bet his annual salary the little pig wouldn’t be sneering at him again anytime soon. Come to think of it, dear Otylia had been awfully quiet and obedient lately. Perhaps she was capable of learning. 

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw and ten from Hufflepuff,” he told the boys before walking away. His pace was brisk now, for he had a mere two minutes before the scheduled start of the meeting. 

Upon his arrival to Dippet’s office, he found that everyone was already there—the headmaster himself, an auburn-haired man with a permanent scowl, a classically beautiful dark-haired lady in pearls and silk robes, and, sitting slightly apart from her parents, Messier Two, who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. 

“Who is that boy?” the unfamiliar wizard demanded of Dippet. 

Tom, irked by the man’s tone, kept his face neutral as Dippet answered, “This is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Tom Riddle. If you recall, Mr. Messier, he was the one to catch that terrible monster and earned a Special Services Award in 1943. Tom is the one who also helped your daughter handle the news of her sister’s...hospitalisation.”

Mean grey eyes slightly less narrowed in distaste, Messier stood to shake his hand. “Charles Messier, Head of the Treasury Department. Pleased to meet you, boy.”

“You as well,” Tom replied, not-so-earnestly. The man was pompous, but he was good to be acquainted with. His influence in the Ministry was largely the reason why Tom was so enthusiastic about this particular conference. The other, slightly smaller reason was that, if he planned on taking Dippet’s place in the future, he had to have experience with the more unpleasant duties of the headmaster. 

“I’d also like to apologise for my daughter’s behavior,” Messier continued. “Harpalyke has always been stubborn and recalcitrant. It’s a difficult potion to swallow for a parent that, no matter how much effort they put in, their child will never be bright enough to understand their role and function in the world.” 

Behind his back, unseen by everyone but Tom, Harpalyke rolled her eyes. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Dippet suggested, for he and Tom were thinking along the same lines, mainly that the next twenty minutes would be no walk through the garden.

“We’ve decided that, due to Ananke’s excellent academic performance, she will receive a Hogwarts diploma and all passing NEWTs that she has taken,” said Dippet. “We are very sorry that we could not help her, but we believe she will make a quick recovery at St. Mungo’s. She is generally well-behaved, isn’t that correct, Tom?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh yes, we know,” Messier said as his blank-eyed wife nodded along. “Ananke has always been our pride and joy. We will stop at nothing to give this matter the utmost attention.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Dippet replied, giving a faint smile. “You all, of course, are still welcome at the farewell ceremony.”

“Thank you for the offer, good sir, but we must respectfully decline,” said Messier pompously. “We are staying in Hogsmeade only for tonight. Our plan is simple: find out what’s become of Ananke’s education, take Harpalyke home, and tend to this urgent matter.”

“I see, Mr. Messier.”

The girl was frowning slightly, leaning forward. “Please excuse me, but Father, term doesn’t end until Friday.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Messier responded tartly. “I am not going to wait that long, so you will be joining us in Hogsmeade, and tomorrow we return to London.”

Her dark eyes widened and she looked stricken for the first time. “But I’ve got another exam!” 

“Mind your manners, Harpalyke,” her father warned. 

She turned to Dippet. “Headmaster, forgive me, but my Astronomy exam is tonight at midnight. Perhaps if I stay at Hogwarts, sir, and tomorrow—”

“No!” Messier barked, glowering at her. “Just who do you think you are, little girl, giving orders around here?” 

His wife placed a bony, docile hand on his forearm. “Charles, please relax. We can return—”

“Be quiet, Euporie, you’ve no business speaking, either. You’re as useless as she is.” 

Now Dippet was the one looking stricken. After exchanging an exasperated glance with Tom, he started to speak, but in an instant, Messier had cleared his throat and collected himself. “Apologies, Mr. Dippet. It’s always an endeavor when women are involved.”

“Yes, well…” Dippet clearly didn’t know how to respond to that, so he addressed Harpalyke, who had returned to her normal disinterested appearance. “Do not fret, my dear girl. We will work something out with your exam. We will speak to Professor Clough and see what she says, right, Tom?”

“Oh, yes,” Tom replied, giving his best charming smile. “I’m sure she will be happy to exempt Miss Messier from the exam. Professor Clough will understand that she must return to her family urgently and her marks have been outstanding all year. Isn’t that right, dear?” 

Though her facial expression didn’t change, he saw with relish that her fists were curled. “Yes, sir,” she spit out. 

Dippet, who normally kept a demeanor of congeniality, said to Messier with a rare coolness in his voice, “Indeed. In fact, judging by her marks, I’d say Harpalyke is easily one of the top students in her year. You’ve been blessed with two clever ladies here, Mr. Messier.”

The girl took advantage of Dippet and Messier’s staring showdown to shoot a glare of loathing at Tom. He felt the corners of his mouth twitching, threatening the first genuine smile that evening. It always amused him when girls grew cross with him; it was such a refreshing change. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t benefit him to have this particular one harbor strong ill feelings toward him. For now, though, he happily took in her misery. 

“Alright, evidently it’s settled, then,” Messier muttered after a long, tense silence. “Harpalyke will return with us now. Come.” 

“I’ve got to pack my trunk, Father.”

“You are not going by yourself. How can we trust that you’ll not act on your impulses and run off again? You’re clearly incapable of any self-control. Headmaster, perhaps you can fetch a student to escort her?”

“Father, I am a prefect,” said his daughter irritably. “ _I_ do the escorting.”

Before Messier could start thundering again, Tom stood up and offered, “I’ll escort her. I must return to the dungeons anyway.”

“Excellent.” Dippet clapped his hands together, visibly relieved now that the end of the meeting was in sight. “Mr. and Mrs. Messier, it was a pleasure to meet you. Harpalyke, have a wonderful summer and good luck with...everything.”

Once they bade the headmaster farewell, the Messiers followed Tom to the corridor. “We’ll be waiting in the Entrance Hall,” Messier told him before gripping his wife’s arm and turning away. “Don’t you ever speak to me again whilst we’re…” they heard him hissing to her, but soon they were out of earshot. 

Harpalyke didn’t bother hiding her scowl, marching huffily next to Tom as he led her through the castle. On the first floor, they passed Malfoy and Parkinson leaving the Great Hall, hand-in-hand. Parkinson immediately rushed up to the girl and threw her arms around her while Malfoy watched the scene awkwardly. Then just as abruptly as she’d embraced her, Parkinson released her and continued on. 

Tom’s intention had been to simply take the girl to the Slytherin common room like he’d offered and be done with it, but somewhere between the Great Hall and the stone passageway, he changed his mind. 

“Come into my office for a moment,” he said, gripping her arm and pulling her into the Defense classroom. She followed him to his office without complaint, though he did catch a worried glance at him out of the corner of her eyes.

Closing the door behind him, he allowed a brief scene to play out: clapping a hand over her mouth, lifting her skirt, and digging his fingers into soft white flesh as he— _get ahold of yourself_. He was above such urges; if he’d controlled himself when he had her pinned to the floor, he certainly could now. “Have a seat, Miss Messier.”

She did as she was told while Tom pulled out a small box from the bottom drawer of his desk, which he’d enchanted to open at his touch. As she watched curiously, he selected a tiny vial filled with matte, deep blue liquid and extended it to her. “Take this, give it to your sister. It lasts about three months. In case her stay is longer than anticipated, I’ll give you the recipe.”

She took it and inspected it. “What’s it called?”

He shrugged as he scrawled down the ingredients on a piece of parchment. He knew the exact measurements and instructions despite not brewing it for a couple of years, for he’d taken it many times. “It has no name. The hellebore is difficult to obtain, so I suggest ordering it from the apothecary now. Only muggle hospitals use laudanum, but the pharmacy on the corner next to the Vauxhall Road Underground station will sell it to you if you pass yourself off as a nurse.”

He could tell she was slightly lost, even though she was trying to hide it. “I’m sorry, sir, but what does it _do_?”

Tom finished up the last bit of instruction— _cool for at least twelve hours before bottling_ —before answering. “Since you’ve been delving into muggle methods, I’m sure you are familiar with electric shock?” 

“Elec—what?” she asked, frowning in confusion. 

He slid the parchment toward her. “They attach wires—”

“What are those?” she interrupted, completely perplexed now. 

“Strings,” he clarified impatiently. “They attach them to a patient’s head and run a current through their brain. It’s similar to being struck by a small bolt of lightning.”

Her jaw dropped in horror. “How barbaric!”

“Yes, well, I’ve heard St. Mungo’s has started the practice with charms and such. This potion protects from the potential damage inflicted on the mind.”

She inspected the jar again, eyebrows slanted with concern. “Good heavens. I’ve got to get this to Annie immediately.”

Tom nodded and leaned his back against the chair. “Yes, I recommend that.” He watched her read over the instructions, her finger running idly over the words, until she looked back up, biting her lip before she spoke. 

“Professor...how—how did you come up with this?” 

He knew she was really asking why, but he was not going to tell her about the despicable muggle doctor and how the staff at Wool’s wanted him locked away. This pureblood, privileged girl wouldn’t understand a thing about that. 

“By which all potions are created for the first time,” he said simply. “Trial and error.” Before she could ask for elaboration, he gave her a kind smile and added, “Have a nice summer, Miss Messier.”

He wanted her out, which thankfully, she cottoned onto instantly. As she rose, she replied, “You as well, sir, and thank you for...this.” Tucking the vial into her robes, she left the office.

Alone at last, Tom finally had a chance to think. He rarely acted without deliberation, and giving that vial to his student was almost pure impulse. Of course, it wasn’t without reason. She’d warmed up to him, which would help considerably if—or when—he’d need her in the future. 

Above all of that, though, he had to admit that he really hadn’t an explanation for this generosity. For what did he need to help her, anyway? She was obviously capable of carrying out her plans, however convoluted they may be, on her own.


	10. As the World Turns

_10 July 1946_   
_Dear Mel,_

_I’ve recently found out about my brother’s treatment of you and I’m so sorry for not realising it sooner. I actually found out at Hogwarts, but with exams and the like, I did not want to distract you. Please know that I’ve decided that I no longer care what my family has to say, especially now that Cygnus and Orion are out of Hogwarts. I care more about you and your happiness, and I hope you will decide to be happy with me. However, that is your choice to make._

_I hope to hear from you soon and that you are having the best summer you possibly can under the circumstances._

_With love,_   
_Alphard_

The letter had come during the tail-end of Harper’s stay, so Mel waited until she left to answer. She didn’t want to tell Alphard the truth, which was that she cared what his family had to say, and because of that, she wasn’t sure she could ever be happy with him. It wasn’t his fault, of course, but unless they left the continent, they could never be together openly. If she thought for a second they could, the incident with Cygnus was always there to remind her otherwise. 

Though Harper’s visit had been pleasant, there still had been unresolved tension between the pair of girls. It had partly to do with the Regime’s tightening fist, but on Mel’s part, it was mostly because Harper still hadn’t apologised for shutting her out last term. However, Mel understood the preoccupation with Annie’s weirdness, so she shoved her resentment aside. 

About a week after Harper’s departure, Dad returned home with some good news: he’d been promoted at the Muggle Liaison Office. He was skittish and on edge lately, since his job entailed Obliviating muggles for very minor reasons, so Mel was pleased to see him relax with a gifted bottle of mead from a coworker. 

To celebrate, Mum made a cake and the four of them settled in after supper to play a few rounds of cards. Mum and Dad even let Mel have a pint, much to Auntie Bertha’s disapproval. 

“She’s seventeen now,” Mum reminded her. “We really can’t stop her.”

“Yes, I know…” Auntie Bertha started, but seemed to think better of it. “Well, alright, then. Donnie, your turn to deal.”

Dad gave Mel a wink and a grin as he picked up the deck of cards. Despite all the danger and drama, the McCreadys were in a jolly mood as they played rummy to the tune of Maria Lambetti’s new record. “Summer breeze in paradise,” Mum sang unabashedly with red cheeks and slow, snapping fingers. “Getting lost in those eyes…”

Later, mind fuzzy, Mel closed her eyes against the whirling surroundings and drifted off with the song stuck in her head, thinking of Alphard. She was bummed about not being able to go steady with him, but his letter pleased her nonetheless. It was nice to know the feelings toward each other were mutual. Perhaps one day Grindelwald would be overthrown and things would change for the better…

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Mel jolted awake and sat up. Dizziness overtook her and a foul-tasting mix of bile and mead lurched up her throat. Taking a nasty swallow, she looked around the room, wondering if she’d been dreaming. On the bed next to the opposite wall, Auntie Bertha snored away. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

She heard the door to her parents’ room open and shuffling across the kitchen. The front door creaked and her father’s voice spoke to someone unknown. 

“Hands up and wands on the floor!” a voice barked, causing Mel to flinch. “Both of you!”

Her parents must have complied because the next voice was just as loud but not as commanding. “Donald and Angela McCready, we’ve been informed that you are living with a muggle by the name of Bertha Wohler, is that correct?” 

Mel’s heart was fluttering in her chest. Behind her, Auntie Bertha was shifting and grumbling, the mattress squeaking loudly underneath her. 

“Yes, of course, Reg,” her father said. “What’s this all about?” 

“As of Friday, the Ministry passed a decree making it illegal for wizards and muggles to live in the same household.”

“The— _what_? Is this a _joke_ , Reg?”

“Unfortunately not, Donnie. Where is she?”

“She’s in there, but—”

The rest of Dad’s sentence was cut off as the door to Mel’s room was blasted off the hinges, heavy footsteps thundering in. Mel shrieked and fell backward, clutching the quilt for support. 

“What in the name of Christ is going on here?” Auntie Bertha snapped, sitting up with her bare legs hanging over the bed. Since she was rubbing her eyes, she didn’t see the Ministry official towering over her, pointing his wand at her. “For the hundredth time, I’ve got to be at work at four-thirty!” 

“Bertha Wohler?” said the one closest to her. “Stand up, please. You’ve got to come with us.”

“No, Reg, you can’t do this!” Dad shouted, rushing into the room and gripping the arm of the other wizard standing by the foot of Mel’s bed. Loud sobs crashed through the air from the kitchen—Mum was sobbing. 

“It’s alright, Donnie, I knew this day would come,” Auntie Bertha said with grim resignation, yanking down her nightdress before turning to the official. “May I take my things with me?” 

“You’ve got three minutes to pack a bag,” he told her, keeping his wand trained on her face. “I suggest no family photos, unless you usually keep photos of strangers.”

“No!” Mum howled from the kitchen, beating her hands on the mottled wooden floor. “No, you can’t take her!”

Dad turned toward the door, but Reg placed a hand on his arm and shook his head. Meanwhile, Mel was clutching her stomach, unable to process what was happening. 

Auntie Bertha held her head high as the wizards each took one of her arms. “Goodbye, all. I love you.”

CRACK! Before Mel could unglue her tongue, they’d Disapparated. Dad instantly bolted to Mum and gathered her into his arms. “It’s alright, my dear, don’t fret…”

“They’ll kill her,” Mum sobbed. “They’ll perform experiments like they’ve done with those other muggles in the east!” 

“No, no, darling...they won’t hurt her. Those were rumours...they are simply taking them to designated villages.”

“That’s a lie, Donnie! They said that in Austria, too, the words straight from the soldiers’ mouths but they were lies! The Germans took them to these camps and put them in these chambers—”

Mel could take it no more. Her stomach was churning, threatening to expel everything she’d eaten that day. She leapt out of bed, dashed past her parents, and hurtled into the loo. She didn’t make it as far as the toilet, ducking her head into the sink and letting loose. 

For eternity, it seemed like, she hurled and gagged, clutching the sides of the sink and heaving. Once she was done, she rinsed everything away. Her face was burning hot, her hair was plastered to her tear-streaked cheeks, and white spots danced in front of her eyes. Would they harm her, simply because she was a muggle? How _could_ they?

 _Easy_ , a voice in her head answered, pulling up the memory of Cygnus Black and Icarus Yaxley yet again. _They hate you, and it’s only just begun._

After another dry heave, Mel collapsed onto the cool tile floor, leaning her head against the wall, tears leaking through her aching fingers. She wondered if she would ever stop crying. 

~

One of the last places Harper thought she’d end up this summer was at Hogsmeade and with a boy, no less. Yet here she was, sitting across from Felix Murdoch, who was shockingly polite and attentive around her. He lived only about a twenty-minute’s walk away in a smaller magical village, but he’d escorted her from London to a little tea shop near the end of the main road. 

Aside from thinking about Annie almost constantly, Harper was having quite a good summer. Now that she was seventeen with an Apparition license, she could Apparate all over town and stay out as late as she wished. Euporie had suggested they should start eating dinner as a family, but Harper pretended to forget until her mother gave up. Charles worked until seven or eight, so he hadn’t noticed. 

Annie was staying at St. Mungo’s for the foreseeable future. When the family had visited after taking Harper from Hogwarts, her sister was under the Draught of Peace. Harper was not concerned about that. She’d had to slip her Riddle’s potion without their parents or the staff noticing. Worse yet, their stay was only about ten minutes. Harper settled on leaving her wand on the small nightstand as they left. 

“Oh, I forgot my wand,” she’d exclaimed and, much to her father’s aggravation, dashed back to the room without another word. 

Annie had been sitting in the exact spot they’d left her, looking out the window. Harper leaned in, uncapped the vial, and held it to her sister’s lips. In case anyone walked by, she pressed her cheek against Annie’s, appearing as if she was giving her a hug. 

“Sissy, take this,” she whispered. 

“Alright, dear sister,” replied Annie in a dull sing-song, like she was trying to entertain a small child but couldn’t muster up enough enthusiasm. Fortunately, she gulped down the potion without a fuss. Harper gave her a kiss goodbye, feeling a bit odd about giving affection and Annie’s state in general…

“Harper? Where’s your head, lassie?”

She fell back down to Earth, landing on the main street of Hogsmeade. “So sorry, Felix. Blanked out is all.”

“Reckon you’re bored. Say, want to go sneak a peek at Hogwarts? I’ve got a theory that the professors sunbathe nude all summer.”

Harper grimaced at the mental image. “Are we even allowed on Hogwarts grounds?” 

“Probably not,” Felix said with nonchalance. “But I know a secret passageway there.”

“Do you?” Fully intrigued by then, she nodded. “Alright, I’m in.”

He led her to the other side of the village down a dirt path to a conspicuous, old house. Inside was empty and dark, their creaky footsteps echoing off the walls as they crept through it. Right next to the shabby kitchen was a gaping black hole. 

_“Lumos!”_

They entered the tunnel and walked deeper. When it became too narrow, they crawled. Harper was a bit distressed over muddying her shoes, hose, and skirt, but curiosity had more strong of a pull. She’d clean up eventually. 

A few minutes later, they could see a flood of light shining through a hole in what was presumably the ground, as they were surrounded by thick tree roots. 

With grace and ease, Felix climbed out of the hole and disappeared for a few seconds. Then he leaned back in to help Harper. Once she poked her head out, she glanced around, registered where they were, gasped, and fell back down. 

“What’s happened, lass?” Felix asked, frowning in confusion. 

“Get back down here,” she hissed. “That’s the Whomping Willow!”

“Yes, I know,” he said calmly, grinning down at her. “It’s at rest now.”

“At...rest?”

He reached his arms out and waved her over. “Come, I’ll show you. It’s alright, Harper.”

She let him help her pull herself up out of the hole, falling onto lush grass. It tickled her cheek as she rolled over and stood up. Felix took her hand and led her around the tree’s thick trunk. He seemed right: it was completely still. Its soft branches slid off their shoulders and hung lifeless as they stepped closer to the trunk. 

“There.” He crouched and pointed at a large knot. “I pressed that,” he explained as she crouched alongside him. “It puts the tree at rest for a bit.”

She felt his hand on her back, radiating warmth. Before she could discern what to make of it, he stood up and pulled it away, taking her hand again instead. “Come. These woods here will take us to the lake. We’re less likely to be seen there than if we cross the lawn.”

“Makes sense,” Harper answered, looking up at the sun peeking through the branches. It was quite a nice sight and she wanted to soak it in. “How did you figure this tree out?” 

“Let’s just say I’ve been doing research,” Felix replied with a wink. 

“As a prefect, I recommend that you do not elaborate.”

“Put me in detention, will you? Will I get to serve it with you?” 

Harper chuckled and looked away, feeling color rise to her cheeks that hadn’t much to do with the sun. 

“Alright, I think we’ve got to go this way…”

They were silent for several minutes as Harper’s mind started to drift toward the clouds. It was so glorious outside; she should leave London more often…

Suddenly, Felix let out a yelp and jerked forward, clutching his rear. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Harper in alarm. 

“Something hit me in the—”

He was cut off by a large CRACK as a tree branch whipped through the grass, missing Harper by inches. The pair exchanged glances of pure terror before looking up. The tree had a thick, rope-like branch raised, ready to whip. 

“RUN!” Felix bellowed, seizing Harper’s arm. Thankfully, she unfroze instantly and they bolted away as fast as they could. Another branch whipped by, but it missed them again. The next one caught Felix on the back of his legs. For a second, it looked as if he was about to double over, but he merely grimaced and continued. 

When they reached the forest, Harper’s heart felt three times lighter as the safety of the trees engulfed them. They did not stop running, however, until Felix tripped over something and lost his balance, taking her with him. 

“Shite!” he yelled, and Harper, giddy with relief, burst into laughter as they both collapsed on the ground in a heap. 

“I’m sorry, lass, I can’t walk on my own two feet, evidently.” Their chests were heaving as they both struggled for breath. Felix caught his first and sat up, inspecting the pink welts on the back of his legs. Luckily, the branch had only torn his trousers, not his skin. “Well, at any rate, I told you it’d be alright.”

Harper turned to him in disbelief and found him grinning playfully at her. She chuckled and shook her head as he rose with a hand out to help her do the same. “If that’s your idea of ‘alright,’ I can’t help but wonder what you’d classify as dangerous.”

She was teasing, but his face fell. “That was dangerous. I wanted to give you a good time and I’ve done the opposite.”

“Felix, I’m having a ball,” she assured him with sincerity, clasping his hands. “Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had in ages, even though I must look a complete mess.”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, you look swell as always.”

Harper looked away, but he took a step closer to pull out a twig from her hair. She looked up and grinned at him. He tossed it away and held eye contact with her for a silent second. His eyes were not blue like she’d previously thought, but had a bit of green mixed in. She was reminded of a vivid piece of sea glass she’d found once as a little girl when her family had visited the shore. 

Felix took another step closer and lifted a tentative hand to her face. With the back of his fingers, he stroked her cheek. “Would you mind...if I kissed you?” 

Harper felt her nervous system kicking up, but that brought more excitement than fear. “Yes, please do.”

The first kiss was only a gentle brushing of lips as they were both shy and inexperienced. “That was my first kiss,” she admitted. “Yours?”

He shook his head, still only inches away. “Second.”

“Who was the first?” 

“Wisteria Lovegood.”

Harper nodded, filing away the information. 

“It didn’t lead to anything,” he added. 

She didn’t have an answer for that. He wasn’t expecting one, anyway. He placed his hand on the back of her head and brought his lips to hers again. 

This time was longer and better. His lips were quite soft. A warmth spread through her body at an intensity she’d never felt before. Seconds before the kiss ended, she was resisting the urge to hold him tight and press herself against him. 

“I like that,” Felix said. “Let’s do that again. Now, though, we’ve got to make a choice: go on to the lake or back to Hogsmeade, now that the tunnel is out. It’s getting a bit late, though…”

“Late?” Harper echoed in confusion. She checked her watch and was startled to see that it was nearly six o’clock. The sun set later up north, which she’d completely forgotten. 

“Oh, my,” she said in dismay. “I guess we’d better postpone the trip to the lake. I’d rather not hear it from my parents, see.”

“Nor would I,” he agreed. “Though I bet yours are tougher on you, since you’re a witch and all.”

“Too right.” 

On the long walk back to Hogsmeade, they chatted idly about various topics, such as classmates and lessons. Felix told Harper about his trip to America and how he’d accidently set his trunk on fire, causing a major stir on the ship full of muggles. He told her his parents did not speak to him for their entire stay in New York City. Harper was clutching her sides in laughter by the end, stopping short once the edge of the trees came into view. They were only feet away from the border of Hogwarts grounds, where they could Disapparate. 

They stood facing each other, unsure of how to say goodbye. “Harper, I’d like to go steady with you,” he said at last. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course it is, Felix.”

He beamed at her before kissing her softly once more. She closed her eyes, taking it in until he pulled away. Hand in hand, they approached the edge of the forest. 

When they arrived in Apparition Alley, near an entrance to the Ministry, they hastily cleaned themselves up. Felix brought Harper’s hand to his lips and kissed it before leaving, “Until next time, pretty lady.” 

Harper blushed and smiled fondly. “Goodbye, Felix.” 

As she headed to Grimmauld Place, there was a bit of bounce in her steps. Until she checked her watch, that is. Upon seeing that it was well after seven, her heart sped up and she increased her pace to a jog despite the sticky London air. Hopefully this was a particularly late night for Charles at the Ministry. 

This was unfortunately not the case. Though Harper had removed the stains and dirt from her clothing, she hadn’t fixed her hair and realised belatedly that it was a knotty mess. As she raked her hands through it, Charles walked out of the dining hall. 

“Where in Merlin’s name have you been, Harpalyke?” he demanded. “Your mother tells me you haven’t been home for supper in days! Just who do you think you are, traipsing all over the place like a harlot?” 

Harper kept her eyes on the patterned wall behind him, waiting him out as usual. 

“Look at the state of you! You look like you’ve been passed around the pub. What wizard would want you, looking like that?”

“I’ve got a wizard,” she blurted. “I was out to tea with him.”

“Who is he?” He stared at her in disbelief. 

“Herbert Murdoch’s son.”

She thought that would appease her father or at least get him off her back, but he only grew more furious. “Murdoch, that half-blood? You dare taint yourself with such filth? No, I forbid it. Purebloods mixing with anything less than pure is not only unacceptable, it is despicable.”

“Lucky Mother looked your way, then,” she replied coldly, fists curling. 

SMACK! Harper jumped back as her father’s hand connected harshly with her cheek. Her eyes stung with tears, but she stood resolutely still, refusing to break. 

“Insolent little bitch,” Charles hissed. “You dare speak to me in such a manner? You _disgrace_ of a daughter, you would do best to learn your place under my roof, or I’ll toss you right out. Do you understand me?” 

Her ears were ringing, her lips pressed together as she held her anger in check. Further enraged, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her closer. 

“Answer me this instant, Harpalyke,” he snarled, digging his knuckles into her scalp. 

“Charles!” Euporie shrieked from the doorway of the kitchen. “What are you doing to her?” 

“Mind your goddamn business, Euporie.” Charles released Harper’s hair and stomped toward his wife. “Because you’ve failed as a mother, I’ve got two wayward brats to deal with…” 

Harper turned and bolted up the stairs, rubbing her throbbing scalp. Her right cheek stung as she swiped at the tears blurring her vision. She slammed the door to her room behind her and collapsed on the bed. 

Fat, angry tears flooded her face as she sniffled and sighed. Eventually, she pulled out a handkerchief from her robes and dried her face, lying flat on her back. _Damn him_ , she thought stubbornly. _I’m going to see Felix and he can’t stop me._ Though she knew that, ultimately, her father did have the power to end the affair whether she was seventeen or not. 

_I’ll just have to be sneakier_ , she resolved. She’d have to be sneakier to treat Annie and brew the potion as it was. Thinking of Annie made her even more miserable, so she closed her eyes and replayed the pleasant afternoon she’d had with Felix. 

Already she had her first kiss; she’d not been expecting it for another few years. In disbelief, she touched her fingertips to her lips, remembering the warmth of his. Next she slid her hand over her cheek, caressing it like he had. Charles had slapped the same cheek as if to negate the embrace and she hated him for that. 

_I dare to taint myself with the impure,_ she answered him silently, snidely. At once, her mind ran down a path she’d never explored anything like before. She imagined herself back in the forest, sitting on the ground, pulling her skirt back and spreading her legs as Felix watched eagerly. In a fleeting moment of lucidity, she realised she’d slid her hand up her skirt and was rubbing her fingers idly over the heated spot of her knickers. 

_Indecent, unladylike_ , a voice scolded in her head, but she opted to disregard it and continue with her fantasy. In the forest with Felix, she slowly pulled her knickers to the side under his hungry gaze. “Would you like to play?” The Harper in her dreams was much more confident than the one on Earth. 

After she’d finished and cleaned up, a small wave of shame rippled through her. She could never act like that, nor would she want to. She had to shift her focus back on NEWTs, Annie, the potion, and Legilimency, not these absurd thoughts. 

Yet the dreams and fantasies persisted, cropping up every once in a while to remind her that she was no longer a child. 

~

One of the upsides of attending a wedding between two cousins was that there were less people invited, thus less Sacred 28 idiocy. Alphard wondered if there had been some manual each wealthy pureblood kid was required to read that he’d somehow missed. He simply couldn’t muster up enough desire to act like these people. Even Tom Riddle, the half-blood orphan, belonged here more than he.

Alphard sat at the “youth” table between Icarus Yaxley and fourth-year Evan Rosier. Felix Murdoch was present but Sequitur Delmont was not. At the girls’ table, Beryl Fawley, Aurelia Parkinson, and Druella Rosier chatted away.

The newlyweds, Orion and Walburga, sat in the center under a golden braided arch, lavished with gifts, flowers, and attention. Cygnus, Malfoy, and Riddle had been assigned to the adult table now that they were all out of Hogwarts, but after dessert, they moved to Alphard’s table. Yaxley and Murdoch immediately cleared space for them, greeting them heartily. 

“The Dark Lord expresses his regret that he could not attend,” Riddle said with a smirk, causing the other boys to chuckle for some reason. 

“Sir…” said Cygnus uneasily, nodding toward his brother. They grew silent and stared at Alphard, who shifted uncomfortably in his slightly-too-small dress robes. 

“It’s alright, Cygnus,” Riddle assured him. “Alphard should be aware of what the Knights are fighting for and how important it is. Perhaps he’ll be willing to join.”

Alphard turned to Cygnus to ask who the Knights were and what they were fighting for, but then Riddle turned away as if bored with him and addressed Murdoch. 

“You’re unusually sullen today, Felix,” he remarked. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, sir,” said Murdoch blandly, staring at the white-laced tablecloth. 

“He’s in love with Messier Two, but he can’t have her,” Malfoy offered. “Her father told his to keep him away and now it’s a Shakespearean tragedy.”

“Shut up, Abraxas,” Murdoch muttered, his tone of voice unchanged.

“Well, I think you should give her up and find a different witch,” Yaxley interjected. “One that’s a little more...attainable. You lot agree?” 

“Indeed,” said Riddle as Cygnus nodded along. 

“And then I’ll take her,” Yaxley continued crassly. “Since I’m a 28, her old man will allow it.”

Everyone stared at him, appalled. Murdoch lifted his head and opened his mouth to retort, but Riddle held up his hand. 

“That is enough discussion about Miss Messier for the evening. Icarus, I would ease up on the champagne if I were you.”

“Yes, sir,” Yaxley grumbled, and now there were two brooding young men at the table with their arms crossed. Meanwhile, Alphard was wondering if anyone was going to tell him who the Dark Lord was. His first thought had been Grindelwald, but that didn’t fit right. He was the Minister, Great Leader, his Magic Army openly rewarded. Why all the secrecy surrounding these Knights?

“Cygnus,” he said later as everyone dispersed throughout the hall to mingle and dance. “Who are the Knights and what do they do?” 

“Nothing much as of yet,” Cygnus answered, scanning the vast room for someone. “We’re still in the planning stage.”

“Planning...to harm muggles?” His brother’s words in the dungeons at Hogwarts were still fresh in his mind. 

Cygnus merely clapped him on the back and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, brother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must ask your classmate, the lovely Druella, to dance.”

Alphard didn’t bother to point out that Druella Rosier was far from lovely, but he knew appearance and blood status were higher priority to Cygnus. He watched his brother disappear unto the crowd before deciding that he needed a breath of fresh air. 

Just outside the entrance was a large terrance perched on the edge of a cliff. Below, the sea churned furiously, but it was far enough below to sound only like comforting white noise. 

Her stood still for a moment, looking at the deep blue sky dotted with stars, thinking of Mel. He thought of the first time he’d spoken in depth with her, how she’d been sitting by the lake in the freezing cold. His chest tightened as he ruminated over his sent letter and speculation on why she hadn’t responded. 

A pair of low voices caught his ear from somewhere on the right. He turned and made out two tall, dark figures next to a Renaissance sculpture. One was slightly slurred, which he recognised as Murdoch’s: “...I quite like her. She’s so clever, the wit on her…”

“I don’t doubt that, Felix,” a familiar low voice responded, “but her father has made it clear she is off-limits, yes? You’ve got a number of things to focus on during your last year of Hogwarts, and pining over an unattainable witch shouldn’t be one of them.”

“I know, sir, but if I don’t, Yaxley will have her,” Murdoch said mournfully. 

Riddle—that’s who he was speaking to. Alphard found it odd that everyone continued to call him “sir,” even those who were out of Hogwarts like Cygnus and Malfoy, but it was habit now, he supposed. 

“I will ensure that doesn’t happen,” Riddle told Murdoch firmly. “The Dark Lord discourages petty distractions such as chasing witches, unless a beneficial union will become of it, and it is prioritised accordingly. Don’t worry, Felix, once the Knights move into action, witches will be throwing themselves at you, and you won’t have to pine for them.”

“You’re right, sir. It’s silly to pursue her.”

“Indeed…”

Murdoch excused himself back to the party and meandered over to the entrance. Alphard looked frantically toward the nearest statue, knowing he couldn’t reach it in time to hide, but Murdoch passed him without a glance in his direction, lamenting deeply over Harper Messier, apparently.

“Alphard,” Riddle called suddenly once Murdoch had gone inside. “Come.”

Slowly, Alphard made his way across the terrace. Riddle was standing near the railing, gazing out into the sea. “I can tell you are bursting with questions,” he said, not looking at the approaching figure. “I may be able to answer some of them.”

Without waiting for further prompt, Alphard asked, “Who is the Dark Lord?” 

“That I can’t disclose,” said Riddle with a soft chuckle. “But I can tell you his mission is the same as ours.”

“What would that entail, sir?” 

He turned and looked at Alphard full-on for the first time that evening. “Purifying the wizarding race, of course. Do you not share the same objective, Alphard?”

“I do, sir,” he lied quickly. “I just—isn’t the Minister taking care of that for us?” 

“Ah, yes, but we cannot expect the Minister to bring effective change in a timely manner. Not only is he restrained by bureaucracy, he is in a cocoon up there in his office, protected by his soldiers. Real progress happens at ground-level.”

A gust of salt-scented wind blew a lock of hair over his forehead as he looked back out at sea. Alphard noticed he was dressed in simple black robes like the ones he usually wore at Hogwarts. His unchanged appearance gave Alphard the impression that this was a dream, that he and his professor were displaced into lavish surroundings. “Would you be interested in joining?” Riddle asked a second later. 

“I-I’m not sure, sir,” Alphard stammered. “I’m trying to get into the Ministry, see, and, erm, I don’t want to be distracted…” he trailed off lamely before he went on a full-fledged ramble. 

“Cygnus is also trying to secure a position in the Ministry,” Riddle pointed out. “It won’t be too hard for either of you with your family name. Cygnus and Orion have expressed that working to clean our society of unworthy blood goes hand-in-hand with maintaining the Black family honor. You do wish to honor your family, yes?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Alphard, nodding vigorously. Meanwhile, his throat was starting to close and his palms were sweaty. He _did_ have to honor his family. His parents were already on his back about finding a proper wife, and Mel obviously didn’t fall into the category. Would a high-ranking Ministry position suffice, or would he have to further prove his devotion? The thought of helping cause even more suffering churned his stomach. 

Riddle was studying him thoughtfully, as if reading the truth on his face. Alphard willed his expression to stay passive, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“Well, I’m not going to push you in one direction or another,” Riddle said quietly, turning toward the entrance. “If you decide you’d like to join, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. Enjoy the rest of your summer, Alphard.”

“You as well, sir,” Alphard said to his retreating back. 

His plan was to remain on the terrace for a bit to collect his thoughts, but after about five minutes of peace, Yaxley poked his head out and called, “Alphard! You’d better get inside here, mate. Things are getting ugly.” 

“What on Earth is going on?” Alphard asked, a ball of dread forming in his stomach as he stepped through the entrance. 

“Well...your uncle’s sort of pissed and mouthing off to your dad about Orion and Walburga being, er, related.”

Alphard suppressed the urge to let out a loud sigh and sink his head into his hands. This was the last thing he needed right now. Yaxley looked like he was fighting back a laugh. He turned away and let out an odd, high-pitched cough. Sure enough, Alphard’s father, Pollux, was towering over a red-faced Uncle Arcturus. 

“You ignoble swine!” Pollux yelled. “You dare criticise this union of honor?” 

“Is that what you call it?” Arcturus shot back. “Just you wait, the offspring will come out raving mad!”

“Father, please, let’s get going,” Lucretia pleaded, tugging on the sleeve of his robe. 

Alphard turned to Cygnus. “Perhaps we should try to calm Father down?”

“Waste of time,” replied Cygnus, immersed in a card game with Orion, Yaxley, Malfoy, Murdoch, and Delmont. The cards depicted drawings of Veelas, who giggled and winked. Riddle had left, Alphard noticed. On the table in front of the lot of boys were goblets full of mead, unnoticed by the older adults. Orion and Murdoch were red-faced, swaying slightly in their seats. 

After a tense ten minutes of the elder Blacks engaging in a shouting match, Lucretia finally managed to leave with Uncle Arcturus, which helped Pollux gain his composure immediately. 

“Come have a seat, brother,” Cygnus said, pointing across the table. “The—Riddle just left, so you can take over his hand.” 

Alphard shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Well, have a seat, then, at least.” 

There was a slight edge to Cygnus’ voice, so Alphard did as he was told, taking a sip of the mead. It tasted awful; unlike the other men in his family, he didn’t care much for any type of alcohol. 

“You over Messier yet?” Cygnus asked Murdoch as he dealt another round.

“Getting there, I suppose,” Murdoch answered blearily, eyes half closed. 

“Messier?” Druella Rosier, dressed in sequined silk, asked from the girls’ table. “Which one?” 

Cygnus, who had been keen on spending time with Druella not two hours ago, ignored her completely. 

“Two, I reckon, since they went to Slughorn’s party together,” Aurelia Parkinson said, and shortly thereafter, the gossip mill was in full swing. 

Murdoch also ignored them, dropping his head on the table on top of his cards. 

“What a pisser,” Yaxley sneered. Ten minutes later, Delmont did the same, asleep before his cheek slammed onto the table. 

“Excuse me,’ Alphard said, rising and setting his cards down. The others were too engaged in the game to pay him much attention.

“Mum, I’m going home,” he told his mother, Irma, who was speaking amicably to Aunt Melania despite their husbands’ row. 

“Yes, alright, dear,” she responded distractedly before raising a goblet of wine to her lips. 

Alphard had never been so relieved to be back in his room at Number 12, alone. He desperately needed to gather his thoughts after such a strange evening. First there was the Dark Lord—who the hell was he? And this mysterious figure had already gathered a group of men among the most wealthy and influential wizarding families in the UK. 

He composed a list of all the Knights: Cygnus, Orion, Delmont, Malfoy, Yaxley, Murdoch, and Riddle, even though the last two were half-bloods… Blood status didn’t seem to matter very much to the Regime, either, only muggles… 

He rubbed his eyes and sighed, sitting on his bed. Even with all of the racing thoughts, still they returned to Mel. Why hadn’t she written? Had she dismissed him entirely? The silent questions tore at his chest every time they came up. 

Worse yet, he had over a month left of the summer until he could find out. Over a month of rumination. “Swell,” he said to himself out loud, voice heavy with misery.


	11. Dark Assignments

The first few weeks of term were eventful, to put it simply. Many of the students, having muggle parents and relatives, either lashed out or morphed into zombies. Slytherins and Gryffindors dueled openly in the corridors. Both Tom and Slughorn’s evenings were were filled with detentions until eventually, Tom went to Dippet and persuaded him into allowing light magical punishments. 

“Nothing too forceful,” he assured the old man. “A simple Body-Bind Curse should deter them for a bit.” He’d learned from Wool’s that corporal punishment not only kept fussy brats in line but also taught them a healthy dose of fear. Of course, he did not relay this to the headmaster. After the second week facing a stack of reports of violence, Dippet relented. 

Slowly, Tom was securing his position as next-in-line to the Headmaster’s Tower. The rest of the professors who might have had a chance at the position didn’t seem interested. This year, Slughorn happily relinquished to him the title of Head of Slytherin. 

At the end of week three, obnoxious seventh-year Olive Hornby burst into Dippet’s office, crying about a ghost named Myrtle Warren. “She said she’s coming back to haunt me!” the girl sobbed. “She’s making good on her word! She hasn’t left my side!”

Tom and Dippet had dismissed her, writing it off to theatrics until reports from professors started flowing in that claimed the spirit of the mudblood who’d died in 1943 had indeed been following Hornby around the castle, cackling at her during lessons and meals. Hornby often burst into tears and ran out of the classroom. A letter came from her parents, who were evidently as annoying and entitled as she was, demanding action be taken or they’d involve the Ministry. 

“I will diffuse the situation,” Tom offered and without hesitation, he summoned Olive Hornby to his office. As expected, the hideous, fat ghost of Myrtle Warren accompanied her. 

“Ooh, you’re a teacher now, Riddle?” she asked as she floated above Hornby’s head. She’d been insufferable and loathed as a student, and Tom wasn’t surprised in the least that she hadn’t changed a bit in death. 

“I am,” he told her. “And I am obligated to inform you on the headmaster’s behalf that you cease bothering Miss Hornby or we’ll have to involve the Ministry of Magic in banishing you from Hogwarts.”

“Get lost, little boy,” Myrtle shot back. He’d been wrong; she’d changed for the worse. “You can’t control me now. I’ll haunt whomever I please!”

This got Hornby snivelling all over again. Tom stood straight with his balled fists behind his back. “Second and final warning, Miss Warren. Haven’t you got anyone outside the castle to visit? 

“No,” she snapped, but then her shoulders sagged and she looked at a spot on the floor. “My parents died in the air-raids. You remember ‘41, don’t you?” 

Fighting the urge to rub his temples, he switched his tone to sympathetic, although he couldn’t care less who died in the air-raids. He had not, and that was the extent of his concern.”Fine, you may stay at Hogwarts, but please find a spot where you won’t be in contact with many students.” He thought of where she’d spent the most time and consequently died, and tried not to smirk. “Perhaps the first-floor bathroom.”

He expected a nasty rebuttal, but the ghost simply nodded and slunk off. 

“Do you think she’ll really go there, sir?” Hornby asked as soon as she was gone. 

“It matters not where she goes as long as she leaves the students alone,” Tom answered, pulling a stack of late slips out of his desk. “If she bothers you again, go straight to the headmaster and we’ll get the Ministry to take her out.”

“Yes, sir.” Hornby was smiling, back to adoring him now that she wasn’t being haunted, thanks to him. Luckily, she wasn’t in any of his classes or his House, so ignoring her was easy. 

He found out later that day that the ghost of Moaning Myrtle had indeed settled in the first-floor bathroom, which everyone began to avoid. 

About a month into term, Tom noticed the students were calming down a bit. They still behaved like foolish animals, but the mood was less tense. Many of the upper-year girls had gotten married and didn’t return, which had no effect on his class sizes. His NEWT classes, the seventh-years in particular, were taking well to his highly-modified curriculum, especially the Slytherin boys. He suspected that was due to their collective desire to become Knights, save for Alphard Black. 

Malfoy and Murdoch were proving to be the most useful by far, simply due to their fathers, Head of the Education Department and Head of the Floo Network. They simplified the task of connecting the fireplace in Tom’s office to the Network unregistered. Now the Knights could enter the castle undetected through that fireplace when he held the occasional meeting. 

Several young wizards sat around a long table in the office late one night near the end of September. Tom was at the head, watching their every move. 

“Gentlemen, we are all aware that our Minister is not carrying out a regime that benefits real wizards at a fast enough rate. Those with unworthy blood still have the upper hand. This is not acceptable. We will show them the real, natural order, but not with violence or recklessness. There is a better way. It is difficult and time-consuming, strong and subtle. It is not for those who lack discipline. I know you all have that capability and I require you to prove it this year. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” they said in unison. 

“You will stay out of trouble, work hard in your studies, and foster connections with your most influential relatives. If you do this, wealth and power will be owned only by the purest of blood and most faithful to magic. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, my Lord,” they chorused. Tom revelled in the moment, holding back a grin and enjoying the sound of sycophancy rooted in awe. He settled in his chair and took a sip of his goblet, which held the UK’s finest firewhiskey. The boys had similar goblets in front of them. 

“The first exercise in discipline is refraining from engagement with witches unless it leads to a union that will benefit wizarding society. The desired witch, in only that case, will not just be pure of blood but will agree readily to the movement and submit to the needs of the Knight.”

Tom turned and specifically addressed Yaxley and Murdoch, who were conveniently seated next to each other. “Harpalyke Messier does not fall into that category, so you both will do best to forget this ridiculous competition.”

Malfoy, who’d recently proposed to the Fawley girl, let out a soft, derisive chuckle. Murdoch turned red but kept his mouth shut. 

“The second exercise is to improve your marks and spellwork. You are here because you are clever, and you’ll not waste on second on useless pursuits until all of your responsibilities are in order. I want top marks from you, is that clear?” 

“Yes, my Lord.”

After they’d finished their goblets, Tom concluded the meeting and sent them out except for Yaxley and Murdoch. They exchanged nervous glances, no doubt thinking they were going to hear it about Messier or their marks. Once the rest had left, Tom told the pair to recruit Alphard Black. “It is you two who I believe will perform this task the best, as he spends a lot of time with you and therefore, trusts you.”

“We’ll do our best, sir,” Yaxley assured him. 

Tom watched them as they left, marvelling, not for the first time, at how easy it was to turn these boys into puppets. He knew he was capable, of course, but it took not nearly as much time as he’d been expecting. If he had a shred of self-doubt before becoming a professor, it was gone now. He would not only be capable of owning the wizarding world, he’d _excel_ at it. 

As a teenager, he had decided that he didn’t need a companion or a lover. There was no one on Earth worthy of him. But power—that was something else. His one true love. 

Later on that night, he sat at his desk and looked over his seventh-year list. There were only six now. Delmont hadn’t bothered to show up for his final year, and Weasley’s blood-traitor family had gone into hiding after speaking openly ill of the Regime. 

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began to make his own list: 

_1\. Killing Curse_

Easy. The only wizard in the class that was just the right amount of ruthless for that was Icarus Yaxley. 

_2\. Cruciatus Curse_

This one mixed well with some sort of emotional instability. The half-blood Melody McCready was on the verge of an epic hissy fit, hence to her it went. 

_3\. Imperius Curse_

One of Tom’s personal favorites—it required patience, detachment, and sophistication. One had to have a good grasp of others’ behavior. It was a close tie between Felix Murdoch and Harpalyke Messier. Eventually, quiet, subtle Messier won out. 

_4\. Legilimency_

Murdoch would do alright with this one, especially if he followed his father into the Ministry. 

_5\. Bone-Shrinking Curse_

The second most gentle, if one could call it that, and therefore best suited for Ignatius Prewett. It wouldn’t be pleasant for the boy, but he’d do it anyway, if only to prove he could.

_6\. Nerve-Inducing Curse_

Out of everyone in the class, Alphard Black was the least inclined toward the Dark Arts. The Curse could induce heart attacks, but it could be argued that a kick to the nervous system could do a bit of good, perhaps give them motivation. Black would be killing a lot of small animals this term, trying not to cross that line. Tom let out half a chuckle at the thought. 

These six were not getting an easy NEWT from him. And if they did manage to succeed, he’d have every one of them in his grasp at one point or another. 

~

Mel felt as if something was missing, that some part of her brain had shut down. She couldn’t seem to muster up much concern for anything at all. Not Auntie Bertha’s snatching, not the changes of the Regime, not Harper’s distance… 

Not that she could never have Alphard Black…

It was easier to avoid him—not just him. Everyone. No one was concerned about the well-being of lesser blood, that was clear. 

Well, except for Antonia Longbottom. She’d held another meeting in late September and invited Mel. It was unfortunate that Mel couldn’t seem to care about the goals of Dumbledore’s Army, either. What did it matter? The Regime would squash it all. 

At the table beside her, Harper had her own problems: a fight with her father, her sister in St. Mungo’s. For once, Mel wasn’t vying for her attention. Harper wouldn’t understand her plight anyway. 

Professor Riddle entered the Defense classroom from his office, causing everyone to shut up and immediately face forward. “Today you will be assigned a task that will likely take you until your final days at Hogwarts to complete. At first, you will wonder why I’ve given it to you, but that will become clear as the year progresses.” 

Mel used to avoid looking at him, not wanting to meet his eyes, but lately she simply stared listlessly, recording his words without reflection. 

“If there’s one thing you grasp in this class,” he continued, “it’s that ‘Dark’ is not synonymous with ‘evil’ but it is certainly with strong and powerful. Not all of you may want that, but there will be a time when you’ll need it, whatever you choose to do. All of you are capable of performing the task I assign you whether you believe so or not. I don’t expect perfection, but I want you to perform adequately in a presentation. When I call you, come up, get your assignment, and sit quietly until the lesson begins.”

Riddle opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a stack of folded papers. The top one had writing on the top, which he read out loud: “Mr. Black.”

Only the tiniest twinge of pain rose in Mel’s chest as Alphard took tentative steps toward the front of the classroom. 

“Miss McCready.” 

Mel took the paper and returned to her seat. As Harper’s name was called, she unfolded it: 

_Cruciatus Curse_

She had the bizarre urge to laugh. Riddle was expecting them to perform Unforgivable Curses? More specifically, Riddle was expecting _her_ to learn an Unforgivable? Not only was she rubbish at Defense, her magic in general had taken a plunge over the summer. 

Harper was looking at her questioningly, so Mel leaned in to whisper what she’d gotten, but just then Riddle commanded, “Face front and no talking.”

She snuck a peek at her fellow classmates. Each wore a different expression, but the only tense ones belonged to Alphard and Ignatius Prewett. Perhaps she should have a stronger reaction to having to learn the Cruciatus Curse, but it hadn’t seemed to register yet. 

Immediately after her last class, Mel went straight to her dormitory and wrapped herself in her quilts. She’d been skipping supper often, which she knew was not ideal, but going to the Great Hall and socializing with Antonia Longbottom took up too much energy. She and Harper had asked her about her change in demeanour, but Mel shrugged them off. 

She was content to simply exist, going through the motions, until one day about two weeks before Halloween, when Henry Higgins, of all people, addressed her in Potions.

“Oi, Mel, noticed you’ve been blue lately. If you want, I can set you up with some Double P.”

“What is Double P?” Mel asked, perplexed for the first time in ages. 

Henry mashed a finger to his lips, shaking his head, as Antonia Longbottom turned around and admonished him. “That is _illicit_ , Higgins, and if I catch you with it, I’m taking you straight to Dippet.”

“Pity you’ll never catch me with it,” he shot back. Beside him, his partner, Gillian Bowlby, was left to work on the potion himself, glaring at Henry every so often. 

Antonia, for once without a scathing response, turned back around. “I can’t wait to find out who’s making this Double P. Turning everyone into idiots, mind you.”

“What on Earth is it, then?” 

The girl shook her head as she chopped up an ingredient Mel couldn’t even identify. It looked akin to a stiff ball of spider legs. “Someone invented this potion that’s similar to Elixir of Euphoria, except with different ingredients. It’s incredibly powerful, causes delirium and all that. Stay away from it, Mel, honestly. It’s not worth the hype.” 

Mel was no longer listening. She’d tried Elixir of Euphoria once. Last year, she and Harper had brewed the best one and Slughorn had let them try it. She recalled the excited, almost invincible feeling she’d felt for hours afterwards, and that was a sample by two sixth-year students. What would a real taste of it be like? 

Twenty minutes later, when Antonia was returning the unused ingredients to the jars in the cupboard, Henry passed Mel a folded-up note. Harper, who’d come in late and gotten stuck with Olive Hornby, was watching her out of the side of her eye, so Mel tucked it in her robes. 

She didn’t get a chance to read it until after Herbology. Mel, it said in Henry’s loopy scrawl:

_If you’re still interested, meet me at the statue of St. Barnabas at three o’clock. Come by yourself._

She hoped he meant interested in this “Double P” and not himself. If she barely wanted Alphard Black, she sure didn’t want anyone else. 

“Hello, Mel,” Henry greeted her as she advanced toward the statue of St. Barnabas. He held out his hand for her to take. “Shall we proceed?” 

Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and let him take her to the seventh floor. For an absurd moment, she wondered if he was taking her to the headmaster’s office, but then he held out his palms and did an about-face. “Wait here for a moment.”

As Mel looked on with bewilderment, Henry paced in a certain spot between two statues, three times in a row. Then he seized the handle of a door that was not there a second ago. Mel blinked, certain that the wall had been empty. She opened her mouth to ask, but he said, “Come on,” and pushed the door open. 

They stepped into a small room with shelves lining the walls. On those were books, jars of various plants and other substances, and different sizes of glass beakers. In the middle was a table with a cauldron, a shimmering bright blue liquid bubbling inside as a young witch sprinkled yellow powder into it. The liquid instantly turned to a pastel blue. 

The witch was in fourth or fifth year, small with an abundance of light brown hair, slanted hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Mel knew who she was: Lucia Tauriello’s younger sister Theobroma, except this one was a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw. 

Upon looking up and seeing the pair, she raised her thin eyebrows and gave a distracted grin. “Hello there, Higgins.”

“How are things, Double T?” Henry asked enthusiastically. “I see you’re brewing up another batch. Don’t suppose you’ve got a bit to spare for Mel here?” 

Theobroma briefly but blatantly looked Mel up and down. “I might. S’going to be a bit more expensive, though. Supply and demand, and all.”

Mel was about to decline, since she had not a single sickle, but Henry said, “No worries. This one’s on me.” He winked at Mel, who gave him a weak, hesitant smile. 

“Very well. Twenty galleons, then,” the girl told him as she turned away and unlocked an old wooden cupboard behind her. 

Henry hissed in frustration as he counted out the money, while Mel glanced around the room. It was stifling hot, but the liquid smelled heavenly, like spring wind curving through the forest. 

Theobroma straightened up and extended a small jar filled with shimmering periwinkle liquid that was swirling on its own accord, even more vivid than the contents in the cauldron. It was mesmerising; she couldn’t tear her eyes from it, until the girl snapped her scratched-up fingers in her face. 

“Can’t let you leave here without taking a sip,” she said, thrusting the bottle under Mel’s nose. More fresh-scented steam stroked her face. “I’ve enchanted it, you see. Binds you to silence.”

Mel stared at this freckle-faced girl who seemed to fancy herself a mistress. “And if I don’t?” 

“I’m decent at Charms, if you catch my drift,” Theobroma replied, shrugging casually. 

“Good at Potions, too,” Henry interjected, still counting out coins. “Slughorn has mentioned your talent quite a bit.”

“That’s very kind of you, Higgins, but you’ve still got to hand over that twenty galleons.”

“I’ve only got seventeen.”

“Forget it,” Mel said quickly, taking a step back, away from the bottle. “Thanks for the—”

“Oh, just take it,” Theobroma said, placing it on the table. “Higgins, keep the galleons, but you owe me. This Friday evening, I’ll be, er, ‘taking a walk,’ so if you could keep Pringle off the first floor, that would be swell.” 

“Done,” said Henry in relief as he swept the coins back into his pocket. 

It looked like Mel had no choice now. She uncorked the jar and gave it a slight shake. Tilting her head back, she let a bit of the liquid pour onto her tongue. As she swallowed, her heart lifted and she smiled at the taste, like the sweetest, freshest blueberries. 

Almost instantly, her mood lifted and she grinned unabashedly at Henry, who returned it. He wasn’t such a bad bloke after all. A bit annoying maybe, but it was all in good spirit. And Theobroma, what a doll. Without her magical brewing talent, this wondrous potion would not exist. 

“It’s working,” the girl remarked to Henry. “McCready, is it? You only need about a swallow. When you run out, come back and get more, as long as you’ve got at least fifteen galleons. Remember: the only place to get Double P is from Double T.”

Mel burst out laughing, tossing her head back and letting out hearty chuckles. Henry followed suit, while Theobroma turned back to her potion, stirring it slowly and counting out loud. Upon completion of that, she shooed them out of the room. 

“Listen, Henry, thanks a bunch,” Mel told him as they advanced toward the Astronomy Tower. “I feel loads better.” 

“Good to hear,” Henry replied before casting his green eyes around the corridor warily, lowering his voice. “Listen, don’t take any tomorrow until after Transfiguration, alright? Longbottom’s got a keen eyes. She’ll cotton on quick if you’re not careful.”

“Too right she will. Say, have you filled out your moon charts? Mind if I have a look?” 

He agreed and they continued on to Astronomy, laughing about various, recent events around the castle that Mel realised she’d seen but never thought about. 

Later on, she decided to take an afternoon stroll on the grounds, since autumn was on its way. Soon there wouldn’t be any sunny days left, so she had to catch them while she could. 

Despite the weather, not many were outside. The Hufflepuff team was practising on the pitch while a boy and girl in Ravenclaw robes circled the garden. Mel chose her favorite boulder near the lake and climbed on top. For a pleasant few minutes or maybe hours—it was hard to tell time in such a state—she sat basking with her legs hanging over the rock. The sun was so wonderfully warm and a breeze was caressing her face and hair. It was a relief to be alone. 

This bubble of oblivion was punctured by the appearance of Alphard standing just below her feet. “May I join you?” he asked tentatively. 

“Sure,” Mel said. With uplifting surprise, she realised it didn’t matter if they couldn’t ever be together. She was content to just sit next to him. 

“I, erm...did you receive my letter?” he asked once he was seated next to her, his eyes on his new-looking leather shoes. 

“I did,” Mel told him. “So sorry I haven’t had a chance to answer. I had quite a busy summer… Anyway, I’m not angry about the situation with Cygnus, not at you, anyway. As for being together, I’ll have to give it another think, but I do enjoy spending time with you.” She gave him a bright smile that visibly relaxed him. 

“That’s great news!” he said, beaming. “Say, you want to take a walk along that forest there? The leaves are starting to turn.” He pointed to a cluster of trees that separated Hogwarts grounds from Hogsmeade. 

Mel agreed and they set off. On the way there, as they walked alongside the lake with the sun shining in their eyes, she resisted the urge to take Alphard’s hand and lace her fingers with his. Once they approached the line of trees, however, she said, “Do you remember when you kissed me in the Forbidden Forest?” 

Alphard skipped a step, a blush rising to his cheeks, but he nodded. “And behind the greenhouses...twice.” 

“Yes, but the second doesn’t count for much, as we were caught by Harper.” She giggled at the memory. 

The trees blocked out the sun as green and yellow leaves padded their footsteps. Before she could think twice, Mel continued, “I’d like for that to happen again now.”

This time, he did stop short and turned to look at her. “You—are you sure?” 

Mel raised her eyebrows and flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder. “Why not? No one’s around to see.”

Timidly, he stepped forward, took her face gently in his hands, and pressed his mouth to hers. Mel could feel his hesitation—he could’ve gotten into quite a bit of trouble, the Head Boy kissing a half-blood. Instead of dwelling on that, she concentrated on the feel of Alphard’s lips against hers. 

Over the summer, after they’d snatched Auntie Bertha, Mel had taken to walking around London just to get away from Meeker Street. Her mum had found a job for the Lestrange family to replace the lost income, working late into the evenings. One Friday night, Mel had slipped into a small theater tucked into an alleyway and viewed a film called _Le Femme Noir_. It took about ten minutes for the patrons to realise there was a female in there, but Mel had seen a lot in those ten minutes. She’d Apparated out of there straight into her bedroom, where she explored herself with her hands. 

Now she wanted to explore Alphard, but she was scared to make any suggestive moves. Eventually, she gripped his hands and moved them to her hips. From there, she pulled him closer, remembering the girl from the film, Amelie, pressing her whole body against the man in the suit. Mel felt a bit like Amelie—her middle name was the English equivalent, after all. 

Once she had her chest to his, a hot wave of arousal overtook her. She grabbed his hands again, lifting her knee to rub against his groin, and placed them on her breasts. 

Alphard stilled and pulled back an inch, but she held his hands in place. “Don’t you want me, Alphard?” she breathed in his ear. 

“Of course I do, but _properly_ —” 

“We’ll never be properly together.” Her voice came out as an unfamiliar hiss, laced with an odd combination of bitterness and desire. “So take me however you wish.” 

He pulled further away, holding her shoulders and giving her an apprehensive look. “Mel, wait, we shouldn’t be going this far.”

“Says who?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow. 

He withdrew his hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I want our first time to be in a bed of silk sheets,” he mumbled low in her ear as they walked through the forest, their shoes crunching against dry leaves. 

“Not going to happen,” she argued flatly. When they reached the grass, she realised the potion was wearing off. Instead of warm, rose-tinted air, the grounds appeared steely and bleak. She stepped aside, putting more distance between herself and Alphard. “Well, time to act like we barely know each other,” she said somewhat snidely. 

“You already know I’m willing to dash the facade,” Alphard said quietly, reaching for her hand. 

She pretended not to notice, lifting her hand to brush her hair away from her cheeks as a cool breeze blew it into her face. He shuffled his feet and she saw how glum he looked. A sudden surge of fondness mixed with longing filled her chest. “Until next time, Alphard,” she said, flashing him a smile before walking off. 

His eyes on her back helped her feel a bit better, knowing he still wanted her, but that quickly dissipated as she entered the castle. By the time Mel returned to Ravenclaw Tower, she was downright sour. The nerve of Alphard to turn her down; many wizards would’ve happily gone along. Although perhaps not anymore, thanks to the Regime. 

At last she was in her favorite spot, on the bed with the hangings drawn and the bottle of periwinkle elixir in her hand. She took a small gulp, savoring the tart blueberry taste before swallowing. 

~

October passed in a haze. Harper was aggravated to find herself still nursing the sting of Felix Murdoch’s rejection. Of course, it was her father’s fault since he always made good on his threats, but it wasn’t only his. Herbert Murdoch had told his son to stay away, and while Harper was perfectly willing to defy both of their fathers, Felix was not. “I’ll always care for you,” he’d assured her, but without action, the words didn’t mean much. 

Thankfully, Annie’s potion and the Defense assignment distracted her sufficiently enough. She spent many hours in the library perusing the Restricted Section. Riddle had somehow convinced Dippet and Madam Elspeth to let his six seventh-years have free access to it. 

She had been surprised to hear that Felix had gotten Legilimency and not she, but she’d learned from _Magicke Most Evile_ that competence in Legilimency made the Imperius Curse substantially easier to perform. Across the table, surrounded by the other boys, Felix locked eyes with her and she wondered if he was attempting it on her now. He’d have a hard time, since Harper had been practising Occlumency often. 

And Mel—the Cruciatus Curse? It was hard to believe she’d ever be capable of it. Especially now, when she was so cheerful all the time, which was odd to say the least. 

Harper watched her at the Ravenclaw table. She was seated next to Antonia Longbottom and the other older-year girls but didn’t seem engaged in the conversation or anything at all, really. Her eyes were sort of misty, straying out of focus every so often. She looked around, twirling her hair as the food in front of her grew cold, smiling at nothing and no one. 

Perhaps she was taking that potion, Harper suspected, called ‘Double P’ or something like that. It was a big commodity among those who could afford it, which may have explained the eerie calmness at Hogwarts. There hadn’t been many incidents of bad behavior, aside from the occasional MAGIC IS MIGHT sprayed on the walls. All signs were pointing to Otylia Masiakiewicz, but no one seemed fussed about keeping her in line anymore. 

Harper lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth and realised that while she’d been busy taking mental notes on everyone else, her own breakfast had gone cold. She skipped the eggs and started in on the toast, since that didn’t taste too bad without warmth. 

The morning post flew in, and she was surprised to see that Marcy, the owl she shared with Annie, heading toward her. After Annie’s departure from Hogwarts, Harper let Marcy hang about in the Owlery since she rarely received mail. Today, however, the sleek grey owl had an envelope addressed to her. 

The stamp was official from St. Mungo’s, but the handwriting only vaguely resembled Annie’s. She tore it open and unfolded a piece of yellowing paper. 

_Dear Harpalyke,_   
_I feel a bit silly writing this, but I suppose it’s wise to tell someone in case I have Hissy No. 2 of the century. Here goes...when I lie on my cot at night, I hear this voice unlike any I’ve ever heard before. It tells me awful things, like the medi-witches are trying to poison me with the Draught, and that I’ll be here forever. I know it’s in my head, sister, and mostly I recognise it as silly, but there are fleeting moments when I believe it, and that’s what I’m afraid of most.  
I’ve told the Healer but she’s only increased the dose of Draught and that doesn’t seem to be working anymore. It’s not utterly hopeless, though. In the Department of Mysteries, an Unspeakable has supposedly come up with a treatment for this ‘hysteria.’ I don’t fully believe it, but I’ve got to keep the faith in something, yes?   
I hope you are well and that seventh year is not smothering you like it did me. _   
_Sincerely,_   
_Ananke_

Harper abandoned her plate and left the Great Hall. Her plan was to send a hasty response, but she found that she hadn’t a single thread of advice or clue what to say. Annie’s potion was still simmering, almost complete, except Harper had no way to get it to St. Mungo’s safely. Was Annie becoming resistant to the Draught of Peace? If so, would they employ more drastic, brain-altering measures before Harper could give her the potion? Would this potion really protect her? After all, it’s not like Riddle had tested it on a living, thinking being. Hopefully not, anyway, though she wouldn’t put it past him. 

Ideally, the answers would remain unknown because Annie wouldn’t get to that point, but judging from this letter, another episode seemed inevitable.


	12. Thorn in My Side

The eleventh of November, 1946: Harper would remember the date for as long as she lived. 

It started off with a bang. At breakfast, Marcy brought her another letter. Immediately, she spotted the return address—Number 18 Grimmauld Place. 

The last time her parents had written was in 1942, after the first petrification, assuring her that her blood made her safe. Since things were calm for the moment both in and out of Hogwarts, her mind jumped straight to Annie. 

Abandoning her breakfast, Harper slipped out of the Great Hall and entered the first place she could be alone to think, which was the girls’ bathroom. Leaning against the cold stone wall, she tore open the envelope. Just as she pulled out the letter, a shrill howl filled the air. 

She started violently, nearly dropping the letter on the clammy floor. The last stall door slammed open and a ghost, a girl by the look of it, floated toward her. As it advanced, Harper recognised it as Myrtle Warren, down to the bow-less ponytails, thick glasses, and worn Mary Janes. 

“You were in my year,” the ghost said, pointing at her. “One of the Messier sisters, yes?” 

Harper nodded, the letter temporarily forgotten. 

“You can stay for ten minutes,” Myrtle continued in a swift, bossy tone before turning her back on Harper and gliding back into the stall. 

It took a blink or two for Harper to snap back to reality. She unfolded the letter to see her mother’s perfectly-even, graceful script:

_Dear Harpalyke,_

_Hello dear daughter, how are you? All is well here, of course. Your father is busy at the Ministry and Esther has disappeared, so I’ve bought a house-elf. Aside from its ugliness, it performs domestic duties well enough. We’ve visited Ananke and she’s just swell! She did have a bit of an episode last week, but there is great news! St. Mungo’s is trying this innovative treatment on the afternoon of the eleventh. Elko-shock, it’s called, a sort of mind-reset according to Healer Greenberg. I’m very hopeful that it will work for dear Ananke._

_Your father has asked me to inform you that he is expecting you to be betrothed by the start of summer. That is plenty of time to find a suitable husband, dear. Your face is attractive and your figure only needs a little work. I have complete faith that you’ll find a wizard worthy of continuing the Selwyn line._

_All of my love,_  
_Mother_

Harper let out a huff, folded the paper back up, and jammed it into the breast pocket of her blouse under her robes, mind churning at the speed of light. They were going forward with the shock charm. She’d bottled up the potion and stored it safely in a spot on the seventh floor, but she had to get it to Annie somehow. The last time she’d had some was in July…

A glance at her watch told her that she hadn’t much time to work with. Breakfast would be over in less than fifteen minutes. 

“Goodbye,” she said out loud in case Myrtle was listening, pitying the girl a bit. She was a dead thirteen-year-old, after all. 

On the seventh floor was a tiny room where she brewed the potion. She’d found it nearly by accident one night while doing rounds. She’d followed the fifth-year Theobroma Tauriello and worked out that if she paced three times in front of a certain area, a door in the wall would appear, which she suspected led to a potions lab. 

Sure enough, when Theobroma had left, Harper willed the room to appear and walked into a tiny lab complete with cauldron and numerous jars stuffed with ingredients. Along the shelves on the far wall was a fresh supply of Double P, but Harper was more interested in the cauldron. 

About a month after her discovery, Theobroma had caught her and they worked out an agreement: Harper could use the lab as long as she didn’t speak of it to anyone. 

Coincidently, she passed Theobroma as soon as she arrived on the seventh floor. The younger witch cast a wary glance around, saw that they were the only ones in the corridor, and whispered, “Going to brew?” 

Harper shook her head. She hadn’t told the other what the potion was for and never intended to. Theobroma knew and accepted this, for the potion was always in its place on the bottom shelf, undisturbed. 

As soon as Harper was in the lab, she bent down, reached behind a jar of asphodel, and pulled out the vial. Giving it a tiny shake, she watched the inky liquid swirl around the glass. After tucking into her robes, she checked her watch—eight minutes left. 

She trotted her way back down to the first floor. By the time she reached the main corridor, her legs were burning and her breath kept escaping from her. She took a colossal inhale and released slowly, standing near the doors out of view, willing herself to calm. 

Keeping her eyes on the floor, she entered the Great Hall, taking care to make her steps light. Halfway to the Ravenclaw table, she could’ve sworn she felt a pair of eyes watching her from the professor’s table, but she kept her gaze resolutely on the floor until she arrived at Mel’s side. She was sitting near Antonia Longbottom, who was fortunately engrossed in a conversation with the girl on her other side. 

“Hello, Mel, I need your help,” Harper said without preamble, placing her hand on Mel’s shoulder. “Please come with me?” She didn’t leave Mel a choice, tugging firmly on her robes. 

Mel, sensing the urgence, stood and followed Harper out of the Great Hall. Hearing her footsteps behind her, Harper didn’t look back until they were both inside the old Defense room. She immediately cast a ward over the door. 

“What’s going on?” Mel asked, mildly confused. 

“Listen,” Harper said, “I’ve got to leave the castle for about fifteen minutes. The only way I can do so, to my knowledge, is through the fireplace in Riddle’s office.” 

Ignoring Mel’s dropped jaw, she continued, “There is no time to explain now, but I promise I will later. Please, _please_ find a way to keep Riddle out of the dungeons. Tell him Peeves is up to no good in the Astronomy Tower—he probably is, anyway. I only need about twenty minutes.” 

“Wait...none of the fireplaces at Hogwarts is connected to the Network except Dippet’s,” Mel told her.

“I saw Floo Powder right next to Riddle’s,” Harper insisted, “so he must’ve gotten around that somehow. Will you help me, please?” 

“I—alright,” Mel agreed somewhat helplessly. Harper knew any interaction with Riddle wasn’t a pleasant experience for Mel, but their friendship outweighed that. 

“Just give me a mo’...” Mel slipped a hand into her robes and pulled out her own vial filled with periwinkle liquid. Having seen it many times in the seventh-floor lab, Harper recognised it instantly. 

“Be careful with that,” she warned, knowing how reckless it made many of her peers. 

Mel took a swig and nodded. “Yes, I know. It’s only for helping my nerves.” 

Harper privately suspected there was a bigger reason, but she couldn’t ponder that at the moment. She lifted the wards and pulled Mel’s hand. “Come, the sooner you catch him out of the Great Hall, the easier it will be.” 

They parted ways just outside the classroom, Mel heading back to the main corridor and Harper deeper into the dungeons. She was praying Riddle hadn’t had a chance to return to his office yet. Thankfully, the Defense classroom was dark, cold, and silent, the office door slightly ajar, revealing a strip of blackness. 

After another deep breath, Harper advanced toward the office. Once she slipped inside, her eyes adjusted quicker due to the tiny, circular window of steely green lake water. She grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, feeling the unpleasant sensation of it underneath her nails. She stepped into the fireplace, held it up, and said in a clear voice, “St. Mungo’s!” 

After releasing the powder, green flames engulfed her and sent her spinning away. A minute later, she felt her feet touch the floor again. Blinking away the dizziness, she stepped out of a clean marble fireplace into the brightly-lit lobby of St. Mungo’s, brushing her hair into place with her fingers. 

Trying to appear as collected as possible or at least like she was allowed to be there, Harper stood with her shoulders back and strode to the elevators. Annie was on the fourth floor, she recalled from her single visit over the holiday. When she arrived in the corridor where her sister was held, she stopped short. There was a visitor check-in desk she hadn’t accounted for, but the witch minding it had her back to her, chatting with a medi-witch in a nearby room. 

Holding her breath, Harper debated running past the desk, but she was already pushing the envelope of luck. She walked up and said quietly, “Pardon me, I’m here to see Ananke Messier.” 

The witch turned around to look at her. “Who?” she asked around a sweet in her mouth. 

“Ananke Messier,” Harper repeated, bracing herself for a hard time. Her stomach sank as she considered the possibility of Annie not being allowed visitors so soon after an episode. 

On the contrary, the witch’s bored facial expression didn’t change. “Hand over your wand.” 

Harper was reluctant to identify herself, but it didn’t seem likely that St. Mungo’s consorted enough with Hogwarts to report it to the headmaster. She relinquished her wand, which the witch passed over what looked like a plain sheet of glass. 

“Here you are then,” she said, passing it back to Harper. “She’s in room 410.”

Harper thanked her and went on her way to Annie’s room. She was expecting her sister to be doped up on the Draught of Peace, but again she was surprised. Annie, dressed in robes of pink with her hair perfectly coiffed, turned immediately from the window to Harper. “Hello, dear sister. Nice of you to finally visit.” 

She looked and sounded so much like her former, regular self that Harper stopped dead in her tracks, staring at her. In her dainty hands, Annie held a handkerchief and sewing needle. On the table near the window, a tiny radio played a calming piano and saxophone tune. 

“Have I worried you over that last letter?” Annie asked. “I know I’ve had a fit since then, but I’m alright now. They’re trying this new thing on me later today, see, this shock charm. It’ll hurt a bit, but it’ll help me get better, they say. I don’t suppose I’ll get any worse.”

Harper shook her head, glanced around, and lowered her voice. The lady in the bed next to Annie’s appeared to be in a catatonic state, but one could never be sure. She leaned close to her sister’s ear, holding onto her shoulders, and spoke quietly, rapidly. 

“Annie, listen. This shock thing is not going to help. The muggles tried it and determined it wasn’t effective for your...problem.”

“Huh? How on earth would Grin—our Leader allow that?” Annie frowned. 

“Haven’t the faintest,” Harper answered, nodding impatiently and glancing at the still-unmoving witch. “You need to take the potion again so when they come—”

“Which potion?” 

“This one…” She pulled out the vial. “Remember when I was here last, I gave you this?” 

To her bewilderment, Annie shook her head, eyebrows still mashed together. “You’ve visited me before? When?” 

Now Harper was frowning deeply, mirroring Annie’s expression. “Over the summer…” 

“No, I don’t remember,” Annie told her, “but that isn’t unusual. The Draught fogs up my memory, see.” 

An odd pang twisted Harper’s chest at her sister’s words as she uncorked the vial. “Come on, then, drink up.” 

Annie eyed it warily. “What’s it do?”

“Nothing except protect you from any type of shock,” Harper explained, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “I brewed it, but it’s not my recipe.”

“Sounds like a muggleborn’s,” her sister remarked, “since muggles supposedly used this shock thing before us.” 

Harper withheld that it had been created by Riddle, who was mostly raised as a muggle. “Come on,” she urged. 

“How do I know it’s safe?” 

“Annie, I haven’t got time,” Harper snapped, losing patience and looking at her watch. “I’ve got to be back at Hogwarts in _under five minutes._ I wouldn’t brew you something unsafe, genius. If you can’t trust your own sister, who can you?” 

In response, Annie finally took the vial and emptied it into her mouth. 

“What’s it taste like?” Harper asked out of curiosity. 

“A bit like lake water,” Annie answered, passing the vial back. “Not the Black Lake, mind. I’ll bet that tastes foul.” They both giggled. 

Harper felt a momentary surge of fondness for her sister. The real Annie, who could be quite insufferable, was trapped in there somewhere between perfect pureblood and paranoid hysteric. “Farewell, sister. I’ll be thinking of you. Let me know how it goes, will you? Write to me.”

“Do you think it will work?” Annie asked with a hint of worry. 

“It will,” Harper assured her, praying she was right. Unfortunately, there was no time for further reassurances, for twelve minutes had passed and she still had to get down to the lobby, out of Riddle’s office, and away from the classroom. “Goodbye, Annie.”

As she headed to the lobby, barely refraining from jogging, she thought of Annie’s resistance to the Draught of Peace. Did that mean her neurosis was getting stronger, or her mind? It was too dangerous to hope for the latter, especially now that Harper had limited access to her. 

She pushed a sickle through the slot and held her hand under the small pipe next to the fireplace. Floo Powder dropped into her palm, sonce sprinkling to the floor. Carefully, she ducked under the mantel, realising she hadn’t an idea how to command herself to Riddle’s fireplace specifically. She settled on, “Defense classroom, Hogwarts!” as she threw down the powder. 

She must’ve been too enthusiastic; the spinning caused her to tumble into the office. The room was swaying, threatening to throw her off balance. She clutched the edge of the fireplace to steady herself, turned, and saw Riddle seated at his desk, watching her. Across from him, Mel sat meek and hunched, with the facial expression of a kicked puppy. 

Nearly all of the blood left Harper’s face and the world started up with the tilting again. Thankfully, she recovered a second later. 

“Take a seat, Miss Messier,” Riddle said, nodding to Mel. She recognised the tone of his voice—angry but determined to keep control of it. “Miss McCready, you are excused. Don’t let me find you in such a position again.”

“Yes, sir,” Mel replied, nodding fervently and rising. She turned to Harper and mouthed _I’m sorry_ before scuttling out. Harper watched her with a clench of longing in the pit of her stomach, wishing she was anywhere but in this office. To say she was in trouble was an understatement. 

As soon as the door slammed closed behind Mel, the calm mask dropped from Riddle’s face and he glared at Harper. She kept her eyes on her hands folded in her lap as he spoke. “Well, aren’t you becoming quite the thorn in my side. I hope you haven’t got any plans on a Friday night for the rest of your days at Hogwarts, because you’ll be spending them right here in detention.” 

“Yes, sir,” Harper muttered. 

“You _dare_ sneak into my office and leave the castle? What on Earth did you think you were doing? Look at me, Miss Messier.”

Reluctantly, she lifted her head and obeyed. As soon as their eyes locked, she felt him pushing into her mind, but she brought up the wall. Since she’d been practising Occlumency, it was strong enough for his efforts to bounce off. 

He let out a chuckle, but it was laced with fury. “Silly little girl, you think you can hide anything from me?” 

Before she could respond, he narrowed his eyes and tore through the wall in one instant, delving deeper in Harper’s mind than she’d ever been herself. Memories whizzed by: giving Annie the potion, taking Mel into the old Defense room, her mother’s letter… Older ones, such as running from the Whomping Willow and the little library in Muggle London… Then they were moving too fast to view fully until he reached some sort of boundary. All of the memories were now shadowy, vague and tinted darker but still distinguishable. Just as Harper realised she was witnessing her own dream-world, a particular image appeared and everything slowed down. 

With horror, she recognised it immediately as the start of a dream she’d had the previous month. She was in this very office, sitting on the desk with Riddle, only a shadowed figure but still him, standing in front of her. A burst of heat passed through her, gathering between her legs as he approached. Their lips met and she felt his hands on her hips. Her mouth opened a bit more, kissing him eagerly… 

Then the images cleared and she found herself face-to-face with the actual Riddle, who had just witnessed the entire scene. Abandoning pretense, Harper sank her head into her hands, burning with embarrassment. “Oh, my _goodness_.” 

“Well, that was interesting,” Riddle remarked. “Stand up, Miss Messier.”

She couldn’t bring herself to uncover her face. She was content with sitting there curled over until her body decomposed there. 

“I said stand up, Miss Messier,” he snapped, his chair scraping across the wooden floor as he stood up. 

Harper jumped up as if scalded but kept her eyes on her shoes. Hearing him step toward her, she wondered which spell or curse he was going to cast on her. Perhaps now that she was such a nuisance, he’d Obliviate her? But he hadn’t made her fetch the behavior book yet, and—

Her thoughts were cut off as he seized her shoulders and turned her around. Still holding on, he pushed her backward until her rear connected with the desk. At that point, Harper’s thoughts had vacated her brain, but a vision of the immediate future played out: Riddle pulling out his wand, sticking it in her face, and uttering an incantation. 

That never came. What did occur was the last thing she would ever expect: he placed his cold hands on her cheeks, leaned in, and brought his mouth to hers. 

Unlike in the dream, there was no heat of passion, for Harper was frozen in shock. After a moment, her brain unlocked and thoughts flew at her— _No! This shouldn’t be happening!_

She pulled away, ready to push him off. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. He released her face, stood up straight, and gave her a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Are you denying your unconscious urges, Harper?”

He seemed to be mocking her, but she was too stunned to reply. All she could do was stare at him with wide eyes. “No, sir,” she croaked at last.

His hands were on her face again and this time, Harper was functioning enough to close her eyes and reciprocate. She did enjoy his lips on hers, although this was very different from her last experience. For one, Riddle was much less gentle, pressing his fingers into her cheek, holding her in place, and kissing her with force. He hadn’t asked like Felix had and didn’t seem concerned with her reaction. Yet the heat wave was blooming somewhere deep in her abdomen, spreading across her legs, torso, and finally, her hands, which rested on his shoulders. 

When he pulled away, he caught her bottom lip with his teeth and bit down. Harper let out a small whimper, tucking it into her mouth. It was slightly swollen and she could taste a drop of blood on her tongue. 

Riddle walked away, opened the door to the classroom, and held it, the cue for her to get going. “This Friday at eight o’clock is the start of your detention. Do not be late.” 

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, tearing her eyes away from his intense gaze. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she was scurrying out of the office, heart beating wildly. 

That couldn’t have just happened, she said to herself as she power-walked to her first class, Ancient Runes. She didn’t have the textbook but hell, did it matter? This was a dream anyway, it had to be. 

Her watch told her she had five minutes to get to Verdanyan’s room on the fifth floor. There was no possibility all of that madness happened in under an hour; it felt like an entire day had passed already. Further proof that she was dreaming. She had herself convinced. 

However, after Ancient Runes, Herbology, lunch—where Riddle was blessedly absent—and Arithmancy, Harper’s day went on as minutely plain as usual, save for Mel’s apologetic glances and the raw spot on her lip. After taking these factors into consideration, Harper was forced to conclude that she wasn’t dreaming, that for some unknown, outlandish reason, Professor Riddle had kissed her on the mouth. And despite her feelings toward him, she had thoroughly enjoyed it. 

~

Only halfway through November, and Alphard was figuring out why the past two Head Boys, Cygnus and Riddle, were so strict with the students. They were sneaky little prats. Masiakiewicz was starting up again with the spray-painting nonsense. Murdoch had at least decided to channel his hatred of Prewett into one-upping him on the Defense task. Yaxley was being an all-around arse. And to top it off, someone was selling homebrewed potion that had half the students impulsive and delirious. He didn’t know who the creator was, but he’d narrowed it down to the Slytherins. 

He strongly suspected Mel was taking the potion; she was passive and somewhat unfazed by everything. Not like her at all. She was unconcerned with casting the _Cruciatus Curse_ , and she rarely spoke of the Regime, even though Alphard had heard from Cygnus that they were rounding up muggles from wizarding homes. 

No, he thought, watching her in Defense one Friday near the end of November. Something was wrong. 

The lesson itself was eventful enough to distract him. When the students were paired up, as per the protocol every Friday, Yaxley and Prewett were placed together, but that got ugly fast. Now Alphard was stuck with Yaxley and Prewett with Murdoch, which predictably wasn’t going well either. Since there were only three pairs, they had enough room to duel properly. 

“I’m drawing a blank, mate,” Yaxley told him, looking around. “Quick, give me one.” 

“I haven’t got any, either,” said Alphard, distracted. Mel stood next to them, smiling at him.

“I haven’t got any, either, Alphard,” she said cheerfully, while Harper stood off to the side, watching Prewett and Murdoch. 

“Yes, well, he doesn’t give a toss if you girls duel or turn into dancing top hats,” Yaxley told her snidely. 

Mel either wasn’t fussed or it went over her head, for she merely shrugged and turned away. Harper, however, shot Yaxley a glare. Alphard did have to admit that Riddle barely acknowledged the girls, evidently not expecting them to do much. 

Meanwhile, Murdoch had reached his boiling point. “Disarm me again and I’ll bend you over my knee and spank you muggle-style!” he bellowed, advancing on Prewett. Before Alphard could intervene, Riddle stalked out of his office with a glare, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“What is going on here?” he demanded. “Why are _none_ of you practising like I asked? Mr. Murdoch, I’ve had enough of you this afternoon. Get out of my classroom.” 

“Pardon?” Murdoch asked, dumbfounded. 

“Out, Murdoch. I’ll see you tomorrow night for your detention at eight o’clock.” 

Looking as chagrined and meek as Alphard had ever seen him, Murdoch collected his things and left the classroom. 

“Mr. Yaxley, pair with Mr. Prewett and continue,” Riddle ordered. “Don’t you dare act up. Mr. Black, please come to my office.” 

Heart kicking up, Alphard followed him across the room. “Ladies, get ahold of yourselves and get back into formation,” Riddle said to Mel and Harper, who were in the throes of a giggling fit, presumably at Murdoch’s remark. 

Once they were behind the closed office door, he turned to Alphard and said, “Have a seat.”

Alphard obeyed and Riddle sat at his chair, setting his crossed hands on the desk. “I know you’ve got another class right after this, so I’ll get right to the point. Have you thought any more about the proposal I gave you over the summer?” 

At the frozen look on Alphard’s face, he added, “At your dear sister’s wedding?” 

“Yes,” Alphard answered; he’d known exactly what Riddle was referring to but no idea how to respond. Luckily, a knock on the door caught their attention. 

“Enter,” Riddle snapped impatiently. 

Harper poked her head in, looking uneasy. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor, but Yaxley and Prewett are having a...physical altercation.”

Riddle let out a rough sigh and stood up. 

“I can stun them, sir,” Harper offered.

“Thank you, Miss Messier, but I’ll handle it. You both and Miss McCready are dismissed.”

He stepped out without another word. Alphard tried to catch Harper, but she was on Riddle’s heels until she reached her desk, only sparing a glance at the entanglement that was Yaxley and Prewett. With one wave of his wand, Riddle froze them in place. 

“Mel, we’re allowed to go,” Alphard called to her on his way out, wishing he could stay and escort her to the Great Hall. He wanted to speak to Harper and get this potion thing sorted. He loved Mel and wanted her old self back, though she was probably happier like this. 

It’s artificial happiness, he reminded himself, and it was not going to last. 

A couple of hours after supper, he caught up with her again and walked her to Ravenclaw Tower. As usual, she hadn’t much to say, preferring to look around instead. 

“Do you know where Harper is?” he asked once they arrived at the bronze eagle-shaped door knocker. “I need to ask her something about, erm, her prefect report.”

“Hmm,” Mel replied disinterestedly. “Well, you’ll have to wait until she’s out of detention, about nine o’clock or so.” 

“Harper has detention?” Alphard frowned, bewildered, for he’d never imagined Harper Messier in any type of trouble. “With whom and for what?” 

He saw of flash of something in her blank blue eyes, but it receded quickly. “With Riddle,” she said, twirling her hair. “I’ve no idea why, she still hasn’t told me.” Without so much as a goodbye, she answered the door knocker’s riddle and entered the common room, leaving a puzzled Alphard in the corridor. 

Merlin, what was going on with everyone lately? It was either eerie calm or all-out chaos. He went to the library to complete his Ancient Runes homework, but as soon as he’d laid out his formula sheets, fifth-year prefect Eileen Prince sought him out and informed him that Evan Rosier was acting funny, seeing things that weren’t there and and causing a bit of ruckus. 

“Alright, I’m coming,” he sighed, jamming his work back into the bag. 

Rosier was on the third floor, having a full conversation with a stone knight, which admittedly did appear to be listening. The real problem was that Rosier had shed his robes and trousers, standing in the corridor in only a shirt, tie, underpants and socks. The boy’s attire and glassy sheen in his eyes told Alphard enough. 

“Evan,” he called. “Come here.” 

A group of second-year girls passed and immediately fell over themselves with laughter. “Move along, ladies,” Alphard ordered as he strode toward Rosier. “Evan, let’s _go_ , please.”

Fortunately, when Rosier ended his conversation, he seemed to gain slightly more lucidity and turned to Alphard. “Where are we going, mate?” 

“To the Hospital Wing,” Alphard answered as he gripped the boy’s arm and steered him toward the stairs. “This way.”

“The Hospital Wing?” Rosier echoed, looking around in confusion. “We’re at Hogwarts?” 

Alphard was thankful curfew was approaching, so there weren’t many roaming the halls. However, on the stairwell, he endured even more chuckling from the portraits. Once he arrived on the second floor corridor, Professors Vector and Clough appeared, passing by with a nod. 

“What the hell’s wrong with that boy?” he heard Clough ask in hushed tones. 

“Just another day at Hogwarts,” Vector replied dismissively. “Black’s got it under control.” 

The only other one who didn’t seem alarmed by Rosier’s appearance was Madam Gurnsey. “Ah, yes, this happened a few days ago with another student,” she said, nodding and taking his arm. “He’d at least kept his clothes on. Come, boy, have a seat here.”

Happy to finally be relieved of Rosier, Alphard headed to the dungeons. In a lucky coincidence, he ran into the one person he was looking for: Harper Messier, coming from the Defense room. 

“Hello, Harper, may I have a word?” He placed a hand on her shoulder once he was close enough behind her. She turned to him and saw a spot of deep red on her lower lip.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Your lip is bleeding.”

She jumped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh,” she said, recovering quickly. “I bit it is all.” 

Alphard wouldn’t have thought twice about it if Harper’s cheeks hadn’t turned red as she said it. He had more pressing matters, so he disregarded that and dove straight to the point. “Do you know who’s making this Double P?” 

He’d caught her off guard again, but she merely shook her head. 

“Is it a Slytherin?” he pressed, wanting her to confirm his suspicion. 

She did, but without speaking, giving him a look that clearly said _don’t push me_. He relented, shaking his head. “I think Mel’s on it, too. I’ve just taken Rosier to the Hospital Wing half-naked. The stuff’s dangerous, Harper.”

Harper licked her lip and turned away. “Try the seventh floor.”

“What’s up there?” 

She pretended not to hear him, walking toward the common room. “That’s all I know.”

Alphard rolled his eyes and turned back the way he came. Yet another Slytherin doctrine he hated: never grass on your own, even if they’re doing something absurdly dangerous. The message held fast particularly after the Chamber of Secrets. 

The seventh floor was deserted. Alphard stood in the shadows waiting for Merlin-knows-what for about a half an hour before deciding it was pointless. He’d have to try again another evening—then he heard it. The quietest scuffle. 

He stood rigid, listening. Then, a large bang startled him so badly, his feet nearly left the ground. Everything went pitch black and he wondered if he was still conscious. His mind also seemed to have gone dark, for he couldn’t make himself move a muscle. 

Suddenly, bright light flooded the corridor in the shape of a door with a dark figure walking through it. Alphard stepped toward the figure, but just then it went black again. He couldn’t see a single thing. Eyes wide, he reached his arms out, which turned out to be futile. A couple of steps later, his chest slammed into something heavy and made of glass. 

“Oof!” he cried, bouncing off and losing balance. A foot not his own tripped over his and he was going down, evidently with the figure and whatever he’d been carrying. As they slammed into the floor, the sound of shattering glass burst through the darkness and sweet-smelling liquid rained over the mass of limbs. 

The slippery floor prevented Alphard from standing, but he grabbed ahold of the mystery figure and held him around the waist. Except it wasn’t a him, he realised with horror as his palm made contact with a tiny handful of breast through fabric.

“Get off me!” the girl squawked, finally breaking her silence. “HELP! Grope in the corridor! GROPE IN THE CORRIDOR!” 

Alphard sent a silent thank you to the universe that no staff member other than the headmaster occupied this floor, and the current one was hard of hearing. He managed to wrestle his wand out of his robes and stuck it in her side. _“Petrificus Totalus!”_

She stilled, allowing him to release her and stand up. _“Lumos!”_ Light filled the corridor as he walked to the nearby torches and lit them up again. Once it was properly lit, he approached the figure and yanked the hood down, not necessarily surprised to see a head of messy light brown hair. Theobroma Tauriello’s freckled face was scrunched in determination to escape, her hand extended toward the ceiling. She lay in a light blue puddle littered with broken glass. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Double T,” Alphard growled in frustration. He lifted the curse, keeping his wand on her. “Be careful,” he warned, offering a hand to help her up. 

She didn’t take it, rising gingerly and inspecting her left hand, which was smeared in blood. Wincing, she pulled out a handkerchief and stepped out of the puddle. 

_“Evanesco.”_ The mess disappeared, leaving the spot on the floor slightly shinier. “Come on, let’s go to Slughorn. Don’t try and fight, please.”

He trained his wand on her, but she merely shrugged and followed him down the corridor, wrapping her hand in the bloody handkerchief. “I can talk my way out of it with him anyway,” she boasted. 

“Not my problem,” Alphard sighed, glad to finally see the end of the evening in sight. 

When he arrived at the Potions classroom, he realised a second too late that he’d walked into a Slug Club meeting. One of the upsides of making Head Boy was an excuse out of Slug Club meetings. Now only Yaxley, Murdoch, Grisham, and Rosier, under normal circumstances, were active members. 

“Oi, Alphard, isn’t she a bit young for you, mate?” Yaxley teased as the pair came into view. 

“And she’s a half-blood,” Murdoch added. 

“So are you,” Theobroma shot back, bristling with indignation. 

“My dears,” Slughorn interjected as a tense silence blanketed the group. “If this calls for discipline, you’ll have to take her to Professor Riddle. He’s Head of House now.”

The boys chuckled at the stricken look on Theobroma’s face; evidently, she hadn’t anticipated that turn of events. Alphard frowned, processing this late news. Riddle hadn’t been announced as Head of House at the ceremony at the start of term, but Dippet had forgotten to make a speech yet again. 

“Please, please don’t take me to Riddle,” Theobroma begged when they were out of the room. “Masiakiewicz says he uses hexes! What if he murders me by accident?” 

Alphard rolled his eyes for seemingly the dozenth time that day. “He will not. Anyway, Masiakiewicz is a known liar, isn’t she?” 

She tried a different tactic. “You’d really grass on a fellow Slytherin, Black? What if I get expelled? It’ll be a poor reflection on our House, not to mention all the points we’ll lose.”

“Theobroma, I am _Head Boy_ ,” he said as patiently as he could, nudging her further down the corridor. “My duty is to the castle now, not just Slytherin House.” 

“Punk,” she muttered under her breath. Alphard ignored it and marched her to the Defense room. 

Riddle was seated at his desk, grading essays. As they entered, he looked up. “Good evening, Mr. Black and Miss Tauriello.” 

“Good evening, Professor,” Alphard said, while Theobroma appeared too nervous to speak. 

“What brings this visit?” 

Alphard glanced at the girl beside him. “I caught her on the seventh floor with at least a dozen bottles of this ‘Double P’ that’s been causing delirious episodes, sir.” 

“On the seventh floor?” Riddle repeated, frowning and turning to Theobroma. “Is this true, Miss Tauriello?” 

“Yes, sir,” she replied begrudgingly. “Vanished my whole supply, he did.” 

“I had to,” Alphard told her. “You’re driving everyone mental with that stuff!” 

Theobroma opened her mouth to snarl a reply, but Riddle held up a hand. “Miss Tauriello, please have a seat. Mr. Black, as you are aware, Professor Slughorn and I are at capacity for detention now with your three fellow housemates all serving, so I’m afraid you’ll have to oversee hers for the rest of term. For now, I need to speak with her, so you may go.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Alphard replied, trying to keep the misery out of his voice. This was his reward for trying to keep order. One extra day a week dealing with brats. 

“Mr. Black,” Riddle said as Alphard’s hand pressed against the wooden door, about to heave it open. Alphard turned to see the professor give him a brief, rare grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” he said, feeling a bit better. Though Riddle was a Knight, Alphard figured it would be better to be on his good side, considering how much influence he had within the castle. 

Which was uncannily growing—teaching straight of out Hogwarts, Head of House after only one year of that…quite a rapid ascent for a not-even-twenty-year-old with a less than savory background. Alphard wouldn’t be surprised if Riddle was at the right hand of the Minister himself.


	13. The Minister's Promise

The skin around Mel’s eyes was inflamed, tight, and angry pink. It hurt to even blink. Forty-eight hours after her last dose of Double P, everything hurt and she just wanted it to stop. 

As she lie in the Hospital Wing, two other students came to visit her. The first was Alphard. Mel looked god-awful, so she pretended to be sleeping. A cool hand brushed her knotted hair off her face and his familiar scent filled the air. A soft breath on her cheek preceded his lips pressing against hers. Before she’d registered it, he moved away. She kept up the pseudo-slumber, but from then on, she felt a marginal bit better. 

The second day brought a distraction in the form of Harper, who sat at her bedside, held her hand, and recounted the days events, including pertinent gossip. In Defense that afternoon, she’d convinced Riddle to let her duel Murdoch and damn near got him. She said it so proudly, it was this that made Mel smile for the first time in what felt like years. A chuckle escaped her throat as her lips cracked around a small grin. 

“What of Double P?” she couldn’t help but ask. “It’s not around anymore?” 

Harper shook her head. “Alphard Black caught her and got rid of it all.”

A lump rose in Mel’s throat, but she didn’t let herself dwell. “And what of Tauriello?” 

“Dunno. Riddle sorted her somehow. She’s still in attendance, so she’s not been expelled.” 

Mel privately hoped Tauriello would be brewing again soon, but she knew that in the long run, it would lead to disaster. Not just for her, but for Alphard, too. 

On the fourth day, she was released from the Hospital Wing and returned to lessons. Most of the professors were on the same lesson, so a good part of the first day was relatively easy. Then came Defense. 

When the six students walked into the classroom, an instant hush fell over them as they took in the scene: they were standing not in the center aisle but a corridor with three evenly-spaced doors on each side. 

“Your task today,” Riddle said from behind them, closing the door, “is to practise for your final presentation. Each of you are to take a room, in which you will find a mouse in a cage. This is your first opportunity to get a solid grip on your assigned task. Speak the incantation, let the magic flow through your wand, become familiar with the outcome. Rather than focus on your feelings toward the outcome itself, pay attention to your physical reaction—the energy, the power. Get started.”

Heart thumping in her ears, Mel entered the room on the left between Harper and Alphard. Inside was all white except for a wooden table upon which sat a cage. Immediately after closing the door, the heaviness of pure silence filled her ears. The light above was harsh, fluorescent, reminding her uncomfortably of the time in ‘41 when they’d had to take Auntie Bertha to an overcrowded muggle hospital. 

The cage was empty save for a newspaper, a stack of crackers, and a tiny mouse, eyeing her warily as if it was whisking up her intentions. 

Mel looked around helplessly; there wasn’t any way she could go through with this. She couldn’t torture a mouse. She didn’t even mind the ones that snuck into the McCreadys’ flat and nibbled on their bread. 

She heaved a sigh, wondering what the two on either side of her were doing in their rooms. They both seemed to have infinitely easier tasks than she: Alphard simply had to kick up the nervous system and Harper could do whatever she pleased with the mouse. 

But she at least had to try. Tentatively, she raised her wand at the now unsuspecting mouse eating a cracker. _“Crucio!”_

Nothing at all happened. Mel tried again and wasn’t any more successful. Of course she wasn’t. Even if she wanted to hurt this mouse for some ungodly reason, she’d never be able to cast such a powerful curse. What the hell had Riddle been thinking?

“Having trouble?” 

She started so badly, she dropped her wand. It emitted a loud honk as it clattered on the floor, causing her to jump yet again. 

Riddle had somehow entered the room without her noticing. He stood patiently, surveying Mel as she snatched her wand and straightened up. 

“N-no, sir,” she stammered, looking away and feeling her cheeks grow pink. 

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to offer assistance.”

His tone sounded sincere, almost kind. There was no point in assisting her with something she’d never be able to complete. Best to tell him now rather than look like a complete dunce in front of the class at the end of term. 

“Professor, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this,” she blurted in one quick breath. “I don’t want to cause this mouse any pain and my magical ability is, quite frankly, abysmal.”

He cocked his head to the side, keeping his dark eyes on hers. It was quite unnerving to have his full attention, a scenario that had only played out in her dreams. “Now, Melody, of course you can do this. Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying since the beginning of term? You are all capable of the tasks I’ve assigned, and you are not an exception.”

Perhaps it was his encouraging words or maybe the use of her given name, but Mel ached to believe him. “Are—do you mean that, sir?” she asked somewhat pathetically, but Riddle didn’t seem bothered by it. 

“Yes, I do. Not many are aware of this, but the Cruciatus Curse has no lasting effects if cast for less than five minutes. A select few have strong enough willpower to block it out entirely. They separate themselves from it, you could say.”

This brought slight relief, but not enough.

“What I’ve learned about this particular curse,” he continued, “is that anger lays the foundation. Anger, fear, sorrow...all of those negative responses we’re told to smile through serve as propellants for raw magic, if used properly. Does that make sense?” 

Mel nodded, even though it wasn’t exactly clear. “Yes, sir.” She did understand anger, fear, and sorrow, an abundance of all three, constantly, especially now without Double P to blur it out. 

Riddle held out a pale hand and pointed a long finger at the cage. “Start with bringing up the root of your anger and work out an association with the mouse. Projecting your intent on something you’re not partial to is the first step of many, but you’ll find that once this is mastered, the rest come easily.”

He turned away and walked out as Mel stood still, mulling over his guidance. It did make sense, she supposed. 

First, she decided to make a list of what had angered or dismayed her lately. This was almost too easy, considering her life had been an utter mess so far, segueing into an all-out circus starting in ‘45. 

_Number one, I can’t have Alphard. Number two, Auntie Bertha’s gone. Number three, my future under the Regime is precarious at best. Four, Harper and I have drifted apart…_

After a bleak recital of the list, she figured out that in order for the statements to mean anything, she had to let the feelings overtake her instead of reducing them to tiny stabs in her chest. 

_I can’t have Alphard…_ She pictured him in her mind, his tall frame, glittering dark eyes, smooth black hair, that smile full of straight teeth… God, she loved him, but she could never have him. Soon he’d realise that, too, and no longer want her. Sorrow flooded her chest at the thought of Alphard with another girl in white, holding her hands and kissing her at his lavish wedding ceremony. _That’ll never be you._

A tear trickled down her cheek; it was working but not well enough. The hope of the Regime being overthrown and allowing her and Alphard to be together was too great, blocking the way. On to the next one: _Auntie Bertha’s gone._

The thought alone was much more poignant. Tears were flowing now as she replayed the ugly scene from last summer, along with her mother’s awful premonition. In fact, the pain was so strong, it brought her to her knees with her hands covering her face. Better than nothing, she supposed as she wiped her eyes and got a grip on herself, but she doubted bursting into tears was very useful for casting any kind of curse, let alone the Cruciatus. 

Number three, a culmination of one and two, served well to incite anger, but still not enough. And number four, well, who cared at this point? Harper obviously had her own preoccupations. That didn’t mean Mel wasn’t lonely, though, considering she had no friends at all now that Antonia Longbottom was back to pretending she didn’t exist. 

Oddly, this made her angriest of all. How dare Longbottom be so callous and cold just because Mel had fallen victim to Double P like half the school? She’d even unofficially but blatantly excluded Mel from her group. From overhearing Beatrice Winter, Mel knew they were still meeting up in Vector’s classroom. She clearly was no longer welcome. 

Glaring at the oblivious mouse with puffy, narrowed eyes, she assumed proper stance: shoulders back, hand raised 100 degrees, wand pointing down at it, feet apart. _“Crucio!”_

A loud bang filled the room and the mouse jumped back, but she appeared to have only startled it, for it ran around the cage, frightened. 

Alphard, Auntie Bertha, Grindelwald, Harper, Longbottom, she recited in her min as she gripped her wand tighter and tried again. _“Crucio!”_

This time, the bang accompanied by a squeak filled the air as the mouse rolled across the floor of the cage, thrashing its tiny claws wildly. Yet again, it recovered a second later, even though Mel kept her wand trained on it. The curse wouldn’t last more than a second. 

However, that second had raised Mel’s confidence through the ceiling. If she’d had enough force and will to carry out such a strong curse for a second, there wasn’t any reason she wouldn’t be able to control the duration eventually. Once she figured out how to do that, it was all uphill from there according to Riddle, who would know best out of anyone. 

Mel felt a bit bad about the pain this mouse had yet to suffer, but it was sure better than unleashing her anger on a student, ala Annie Messier last year. Sometimes we must take the good with the bad, she told herself as she raised her wand again. 

And best of all, even if a bit disturbing, the high from performing the curse was just as strong, if not more so, than an entire vial of Double P. 

~

Alphard wondered if he was pronouncing the incantation wrong, or standing the wrong way, or just _being_ wrong for this spell. A jolt was leaving his wand and hitting the mouse, but it didn’t seem to have any effect at all. 

He heaved a sigh and tucked his wand back into his robes. Time was up in less than a minute, and he had to go over the theory again if he was to make any progress at all. 

“See you,” he told the mouse, feeling like a fool. It was probably best that he not grow fond of a creature he would be causing pain on a regular basis. 

They gathered in the corridor, looking around for Riddle. They didn’t see him, so the air filled with chatting about their progress. Then his voice rang across the room from his office, silencing them instantly. 

“Until Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen. Felix, Harper, and Alphard, please see me.” 

The three chosen ones exchanged uncertain glances. Mel, despite having puffy, bloodshot eyes, waved goodbye to them on her way out. Once the other three cleared out, Alphard and Murdoch walked side-by-side to the office, Harper trailing behind them. Once they reached the door, Murdoch bumped Alphard out of the way to hold it open for Harper, waving her through.

“Please close the door behind you and have a seat,” Riddle told them, nodding to the two chairs in front of his desk. 

Again Murdoch nearly knocked Alphard over pulling the nearest chair out for Harper. Alphard was getting agitated, since the girl was oblivious to his eagerness. She and Riddle looked at each other for a moment as the two boys stood behind her, neither of them wanting to take the other chair. 

Riddle also remained standing, plunging straight to the point. “Our Leader will be arriving at six o’clock this evening. I am counting on you three especially to ensure that the best representation of Slytherin House is on display.”

The trio was too stunned to speak for a moment. “Our Leader?” Murdoch blurted. “Grindelwald is coming to Hogwarts?”

“I’ve just said that, Felix,” Riddle replied, his voice threatening impatience. “Do I have your word that you’ll keep the Slytherins in line? It is imperative that we uphold our status as the superior House.”

“Yes, sir,” Murdoch answered at once, despite not having any authority in the castle, attempting to sneak back on Riddle’s good side. 

“Yes, sir,” Alphard and Harper chorused in noticeably different tones. Alphard’s betrayed him, leaking apprehension, while Harper’s was neutral. 

“Thank you.”

Once they were dismissed, they headed to the Great Hall, assuming the same order as before—Murdoch annoyingly striding next to Alphard while Harper meandered, unhurried. 

“Isn’t this wicked?” Murdoch hissed in excitement. “I’ll bet he’s looking for the best and the brightest for the Ministry.”

“I suppose,” Alphard replied without enthusiasm. Aside from the Slytherins, the rest of the castle was unlikely to take the news well. He knew the Head Girl, Beatrice Winter, was bright enough to withhold the guest’s identity until the last possible second, but word travelled fast. It only took one kid to associate Grindelwald with the devil and spread unbridled panic among the younger-years. 

Also, there was the fact that Alphard was trying to contain his own panic. Grindelwald was finally going to make moves on Hogwarts. Many families, like the Weasleys and Abbots, were in hiding, allegedly planning a revolt, but so many still felt Hogwarts was the safest place for their children. He and his peers would be finishing in a few months’ time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about the rest of the students. 

Hogwarts had been a refuge away from his overbearing family. For others, it wasn’t or would cease to be. Like Mel, he realised, his lungs weighing down when he recalled Cygnus’ treatment of her. Little wonder she’d gotten into that Double P rubbish. 

“Oi, Yaxley,” Murdoch called, startling Alphard out of his reverie. “Gather round Grisham’s group and tell them there’s a meeting after supper…” 

Harper followed Alphard into the Great Hall before turning to him. “I reckon we should start passing it along as well. Should we tell the other Houses?”

“No, Beatrice will sort it,” he assured her. “No doubt she’s heard it from Whitehouse already, probably before we did.”

He paused, considering asking her how her task was going, even if they had to use vague terminology. But then she pointed to a figure with light brown hair approaching the Slytherin table. “Oh, there’s Tauriello. I’ll start with her.”

Alphard watched her go, thinking about how relieved he was to finally be finished with Theobroma’s detentions, though he found it odd that Riddle had taken Harper’s when he claimed he had no more time. Perhaps it was because Theobroma had gone from fearing him to falling head over heels for him. What on Earth Riddle had said to enchant her so deeply was beyond Alphard, but at least she’d been dissuaded to start back up with the Double P. 

Riddle seemed to have a way of dissuading—or persuading, for that matter—anyone into anything. 

Stop dawdling, Alphard scolded himself. More students were trickling in, ready to tuck into supper, so he had to catch them now for the message to have spread by the end of the meal. He headed straight for Evan Rosier and his group of blokes at the end of the table. 

Evidently, they were successful, for every Slytherin showed up in the trapezoidal meeting room by ten to six, waiting for instructions. 

“What’s going on?” an obnoxious fourth-year boy demanded of Alphard as soon as he walked in the room. “Are we preparing for war?” 

“Nothing of that sort,” said Harper, who by default had slightly more authority over Slytherin due to being the only seventh-year prefect. Additionally, she was the only girl who hadn’t gotten married off, earning her the nickname of “Mother Hen” by the younger-years.

“So what, then?” the boy prodded. 

“Mind your manners,” Murdoch snapped as Yaxley sneered at the younger boy. As predicted, he shut his mouth and faced forward. 

Alphard realised that everyone was staring at him, waiting for information with vulture-like expressions. 

“Erm, so our Leader will be making a visit in fifteen minutes.”

To his distaste, every one of them exchanged looks of glee. “I need you to be on your best behavior and show our Leader the pride and unity of Slytherin.” He thought that would suffice, since they were barely listening, whispering excitedly. 

This was fortunate, because it was woefully clear that Alphard had no clue what to do. His sense of authority and rationality had vacated, replaced with anxiety. He could hear his blood rushing about, his heart thumping in his ears. He hadn’t an idea he’d be so fussed over seeing Gellert Grindelwald in person. 

Harper, upon seeing Alphard’s face, clapped her hands twice. “Enough!” It was so unexpected, he was jolted out of the grip of panic. 

“Listen, if any one of you lot step out of line, you’re going straight to Riddle,” she threatened calmly, nodding her head. 

“He uses hexes!” Otylia Masiakiewicz added to general horror. 

“Does he?” Harper replied with an air of impatience. “In any case, he will not be pleased. Now everyone stand up and form two lines by year. Backs straight and march as one.”

Alphard glanced at her as they made their way in front of the first years, who seemed tinier and sparser with each passing year, and led them out. He was glad to learn that Harper probably wasn’t getting hexed in detention, though he wondered what Riddle had her doing. He’d never gotten detention in his life, but he knew from his Housemates that most of them involved lines or some other menial, non-magical task. 

That line of questioning was severed as they re-entered the Great Hall. While the Slytherins were excited to see the Minister, the rest of the school exhaled breaths heavy with tension and misery. As usual, his eyes found Mel at the head of Ravenclaw table, looking uneasy but still attempting to keep her face passive. Further down the table, Antonia Longbottom had her arms crossed and a blatantly defiant spark in her light eyes. 

Alphard joined Beatrice Winter at the front, where they stood on either side of the podium, facing the tables. Tradition mandated that they remain there until the headmaster arrived at the podium, but neither Head seemed sure if this was to be followed when Grindelwald was introduced. Beatrice evidently decided it was, catching Alphard’s eye and giving a quick nod. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dippet said mechanically from the headmaster’s seat. “Please welcome our dear Minister and Great Leader, Gellert Grindelwald.”

Everyone, including Antonia Longbottom, politely brought their hands together, but the increase at the Slytherin table was clearly audible. Alphard’s sweaty palms stuck together as he stood rigid with his hands clasped behind his back, listening to heavy footsteps approach the podium. A flash of strawberry blonde hair retreating to the Gryffindor table caught his eye; he and Beatrice were to be seated. Trying not to dart, he went over to the Slytherin table and took the space between Yaxley and Harper. 

Alphard wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. A stone-cold authoritarian, perhaps, a German version of Riddle. Whatever it had been, it was not the man that stood at the podium. 

Gellert Grindelwald did indeed fit Alphard’s vision of German—tall, platinum-haired, and blue-eyed—but the satisfied grin negated any strictness. He was positively _beaming_ at them as his gaze swept the Great Hall. 

“Good evening, students of Hogwarts,” he greeted with a smile filled with straight white teeth. Alphard wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, or maybe it was the slight American accent, but Grindelwald sounded downright cheerful. 

“I am honored to see you have welcomed me so graciously to your school,” he continued. “It is clear why Albus Dumbledore wanted to protect it so strongly. From your obedience to the examination records the Ministry has been receiving, I have learned that the next generation of wizards is bright and clever beyond measure.” 

Grindelwald paused and looked away with his lips pursed thoughtfully, as if considering what to say next. “The changes in our world have worried some, if the news I am gathering is correct. Many of you are tracing your lineages back, placing a metric on your own magical talent. I do not encourage that.” 

The silence following that pronouncement was so thick, it seemed to seep into Alphard’s lungs. If he could turn his head to look around, he’d bet every eye was on Grindelwald, filled with surprise and disconcertment. The only one in his peripheral vision was Harper, who was watching the Minister with her usual blank expression. 

“You all have magical talent in varying degrees. You would not be sitting here if this was not the case. I’m not interested in whether your family is full of muggles. If you are a magical being, you have an equal chance of using magic if you qualify as a wizard, which I believe is after the standard examinations, correct? Once you are qualified, the only thing I ask of you is that you place the future of the wizarding world above your own. Do this, and I promise you will go far.”

Then his handsome face broke out into a grin again. He instantly looked much younger, even more so than the professors, most of which were at least twenty years his junior. “Good luck, students, and happy holidays. Headmaster, perhaps one of the professors would be so kind as to give me a tour of the castle?” 

Predictably, Riddle volunteered and the rest of the conversation was drowned out when Beatrice clapped loudly, starting a room-wide applause. The Heads waited until Grindelwald and Riddle left the Great Hall before lining everyone up and dismissing them single-file. 

In the dungeons, only the steps of the Slytherin boys echoed around the corridor. Everyone was chatting amicably except for Alphard, silent until Murdoch and Yaxley approached him. 

“Come with us, Black,” Murdoch said as if giving a suggestion. 

He looked behind him, but the other prefects seemed to have the younger-years in control. The trio slowed their pace. “Riddle’s hosting a get-together in his office,” Murdoch muttered to Alphard. “We would like you to join us.”

In disbelief, Alphard turned to Yaxley, who nodded without a trace of rancor. “He said he’d be glad to have you.”

“Er, alright,” said Alphard, bewildered. The cluster of boys were ahead of them now, under Rosier’s control. A second later, they were nearly bombarded with a band of marching, chatting girls. Murdoch’s eyes snapped to their dark-haired leader, which didn’t go unnoticed by Yaxley. 

“Still after Messier, are you?” he remarked. “I sure don’t blame you, mate. Those curves are killer.”

Murdoch flushed a furious red and clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Yaxley.”

Alphard couldn’t understand why the pair of them were always together despite obviously unable to stand each other. He supposed there was some sort of Knight-bond at play. To get them back on topic, he asked, “So when is this ‘get-together’ occurring, then?” 

“Supposed to be in fifteen minutes,” Yaxley replied, “but now that he’s showing the Minister around, it’ll probably be a bit later.”

“We should go to the classroom anyway,” Murdoch suggested. “Perhaps he’ll take our Leader down there and we can make an impression.”

“I suppose…” 

They passed the stone wall to the common room and continued to the Defense classroom. Alphard was hoping like hell Riddle wouldn’t take Grindelwald there, but before he went into full panic mode again, Murdoch turned and grinned at him. “He lets us drink a bit now that we’re of age. It’s grand, considering how much stricter he is than old Slughorn.”

“So, er, what do we do?” Alphard asked as they entered the dark, cold room.

“Depends on if Murdoch remembered to take the gobstones,” Yaxley answered, taking his usual seat in lessons. 

“I did,” Murdoch said as he did the same, so Alphard followed suit. Though it was a considerable waste of time, playing gobstones wasn’t the worst way to pass an hour. Perhaps Riddle wouldn’t return at all and they’d simply move to the common room. 

No such luck. Twenty or so minutes into the game, the professor walked briskly into the classroom. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said as he passed, not sparing them a glance. Alphard was relieved to see him without a blonde companion. 

Riddle went into the office and closed the door behind him as Yaxley and Murdoch started bickering quietly about a move. “My turn,” Alphard told them.

He expected the door to the office to open any second, but a good block of time passed while Alphard sat tensed-up. Just as he began to hope that he wouldn’t come out, the door swung open. 

“Enter, gentlemen,” Riddle called. 

Inside the office, he was seated at his desk, in front of which was a semi-circle of three identical, velvet chairs. On a small table with a green-shaded ceramic lamp, providing the only light, was a tray of four goblets. Murdoch went straight to that, passing a goblet to Riddle before taking one of his own. Yaxley took another, and Alphard realised the last was for him. Trying to keep the distaste off his face, he lifted the goblet off the tray. 

The other three seemed to be watching him as they raised the goblets to their lips, forcing him to take a sip. It became considerably harder to keep a straight face, so much so that he failed miserably, cheeks burning as his nose scrunched up. 

Thankfully, no one commented. “So what do you reckon?” Murdoch asked no one in particular. “You think the Minister really believes everyone here has the right to do magic?” 

“No, that’s rubbish,” Yaxley replied. “He’s just saying that because there’s still so many Dumbledore arse-kissers in this school.”

Murdoch glanced at Alphard, who stifled the urge to bristle in discomfort. There wasn’t a shred of evidence that Alphard preferred Dumbledore over Grindelwald, but his classmate seemed to have picked up on it. With a clench of horror, he recalled that Murdoch’s assignment was Legilimency, and Alphard hadn’t a clue how to perform the counter-spell. 

“Black,” Yaxley was calling, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “What do you reckon? Think old Grindy’s gone soft on all the lesser bloods?” 

Alphard’s mind blanked, but luckily his mouth was working without it. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

“Or perhaps he ought to move it along, eh?” Yaxley continued. “Perhaps someone should prompt him in the right direction. The faster he cleans the filth, the better, you reckon, Black?” 

For one horrible second, Alphard sat with his mouth slightly open as his mind imploded. 

“I believe,” Riddle said softly, and the two boys’ heads swung to him at once, “that our Leader has got a plan that aligns with bringing forth a superior magical society.”

“I agree, sir,” Murdoch said, nodding, even though he had doubted the Minister himself not five minutes ago. 

Yaxley fell silent. After another round of firewhiskey, Alphard’s head was starting to fuzz. Riddle asked, “How are your tasks coming along?” 

“Very well, sir,” the other two chorused. 

Belatedly, Alphard cleared his throat. “Well, sir.” His voice was meek and unconvincing, but again, no one seemed to give it much thought. 

“Mine’s just swell,” Yaxley boasted. “It shouldn’t be long before I see that green light. I surely want that bitch of a mouse dead by now.”

Murdoch chuckled, Riddle smirked, and Alphard tried to keep his face still. He knew that Mel and Harper, for some godforsaken reason, had been assigned Unforgivable Curses. The Killing Curse might’ve shared the same classification, but as far as he was concerned, it was in an entirely different category. How could anyone, even Yaxley, want to rip another’s soul from their body?

And how was it being allowed? That was easier to answer: the Head of the Magical Education Department, Cassius Malfoy, had a history of leniency toward Hogwarts. He left it mostly up to Dippet, who evidently had passed along the torch to Riddle. 

Alphard glanced at him and saw that Riddle had his dark eyes trained on him. He took a tiny swallow of firewhiskey and faced Yaxley, who was still detailing his murder plan. Oftentimes, especially lately, it was hard to believe Riddle was only two years his senior. He was a master of intimidation...yet his comment about the Minister came off less than enthusiastic for a Knight. 

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid we must end a little early this evening,” he said after another excruciating ten minutes. “I’ve got to catch up on grading, a result of an expansion of my detention schedule. All the more proof of a dire need for discipline reform in this castle. Wouldn’t you agree, Felix?” 

Murdoch, who most likely wouldn’t agree due to all the trouble he landed himself in on a regular basis, nodded vigorously. 

On the way back to the common room, Alphard wanted to take advantage of the boys’ looser tongues and ask them about the Knights’ activity, but they abandoned him almost instantly. At least that gave him the chance to think. 

His thoughts were swirling in his head, jumbling in confusion. Grindelwald was not a proponent of blood purity if his words were to be believed. Riddle, who Alphard suspected was the Dark Lord’s closest follower, sided more with Grindelwald than the Knights’ apparent ideology. Yet Murdoch and Yaxley had agreed with him rather than challenge him… 

Alphard realised he was standing in front of the stone wall. “Machiavelli,” he recited, making a mental note to ask his brother more about the Knights. He could write Cygnus a letter, but it was probably best to wait until he went home for the holidays. Cygnus would speak more freely face-to-face, and Alphard really needed to focus on his impending exams. To cause even more stress and dread, they were being held NEWT-style for “maximum preparation.” 

In the common room, Yaxley and Murdoch were seated by the fire, speaking in low voices. Murdoch was absentmindedly setting up another game of gobstones on the small table beside them. “Oi, Alphard!” he called upon spotting the Head Boy. “You in, mate?” 

Alphard shook his head. “I’m heading to bed, mate.” The truth was that his stomach hurt just from those two or three gulps of firewhiskey. Also, he’d reached his limit of time spent with his fellow Slytherins for the day. “Goodnight.” 

Murdoch mumbled a response while Yaxley ignored him. It mattered not, as Alphard was finally going to lie down. He remembered that he should’ve asked Harper to collect the rounds reports, but who knew where she was. I’ll get them tomorrow, he told himself moments before drifting off into a choppy, fitful slumber.


	14. Cult of Personality

Harper needed to go see Annie. Her sister’s last letter, though not a cause for concern, was disconnected and passive. Harper couldn’t explain it, but the words hadn’t seemed to come from Annie’s hand, even though the familiar script proved they had. 

There were two ways to proceed: she could wait until holiday break, when she could freely leave Hogwarts. She did not plan to join her parents for Christmas, but with this option she’d have to, having no way to get back to Hogwarts before the second of January, when the Hogwarts Express departed from King’s Cross. The thought of spending any length of time at Number 18 filled her with dread. 

The second option was to visit St. Mungo’s within the next two weeks via Riddle’s fireplace. Ideally, she’d have permission, but since she was unlikely to get it, she had to think of an alternative. 

As she made her way to the Defense room for her Friday night detention, a roaring debate went on in her head. To ask Riddle or not to ask? If she asked, his suspicions would be raised, but if she went ahead and he caught her _again…_

She entered the classroom and saw the desk already set up for work: a pile of notes on one side, blank scrolls on the other, and in between, a typewriter. A faint glow peeked out from the door left ajar, indicating that Riddle was in his office. 

“Good evening, Professor,” Harper called as she took a seat at the desk. He returned the greeting as she slid the top of a scroll in place. 

Her fingers hovered over the keys, refusing to type, while her mind lept into battle. _Ask him! No, I can’t! He’ll say no! You’ve got to at least try!_ “Professor,” she blurted, cleaving the conversation in two. “May I Floo to St. Mungo’s?” 

The ringing silence that followed was loud enough to crack glass. Every muscle in her body stiffened as sweat gathered in her palms. 

“May I ask why?” His tone gave no hint of what he was thinking, but she knew her request had caught him off guard. 

“My sister…” She realised she hadn’t an idea how to explain that while Annie wasn’t in danger, the matter was urgent enough for a visit. Thankfully, Riddle didn’t wait for a coherent response.

“Come here.”

Harper went into the office, which was considerably warmer than the classroom despite the empty fireplace. The door immediately closed behind her. A second later, she figured out the source of the warmth: beyond an open door to which appeared to be a bedroom, the sound of flames cackling and an orange glow poured into the office. 

“You do realise, Miss Messier,” said Riddle, snapping her to attention, “that you’re in detention and you’re here to work, not do as you please?” 

“Yes, sir,” Harper answered quickly. “I can go another time, or I can make up the detention?” 

He shrugged and flung out his hand toward the fireplace. “You’d better be back within twenty minutes.” 

“Yes, sir,” she repeated, already approaching. While Riddle watched her, she grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, stepped into the mantel, and held it up high. “St. Mungo’s!” 

She spun away so violently, it took her a minute to catch her balance. The lobby of the hospital wasn’t nearly as crowded since it was the tail-end of visiting hours. When she stepped inside the elevator, she found herself alone with a wizard with black hair streaked grey, openly looking her up and down, similar to how she’d caught Icarus Yaxley looking at her lately. She resisted the urge to cross her arms and frown. 

After going through the wand check-in, she made her way down the hall, slightly nervous about what state she was going to find her sister in. “Only twenty minutes left!” the lady squawked from the desk, startling her. 

Annie was in the same spot as last visit, sewing and listening to the radio. She looked up as Harper entered and raised her eyebrows. “Hello, dear sister. Why so late in the evening?” 

“I’m in detention,” said Harper, then added at the puzzled expression on her sister’s face, “I’ll explain another time.”

Annie was a bit thinner—her cheekbones were even more pronounced, her hands bonier. On her temples were bright pink crescents. Other than this, Harper was relieved to find the usual Annie. “What brings this visit, then? I can’t have alarmed you with that last letter.”

“Well, actually, yes,” Harper told her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “To put it bluntly, I thought they’d addled your brain.” 

Her sister chuckled and shook her head. “Not yet, they haven’t.” She lowered her voice as she leaned in. “Your potion seems to be working—nothing’s happening. Though the treatments hurt something wicked, I must say.” 

Her hazel eyes dropped to the floor. “I had to be vague in that letter. They’re going to inject the Draught directly in my arm if I act out again.” 

Harper’s body acted of its own accord; her hand gripped her wand, knowing what to do. _“Legilimens,”_ she said calmly, standing in front of Annie and blocking her from view of the open door. 

She got into Annie’s mind, but no memories came. Only blackness, and it lasted not even a minute. At first she panicked, but the second time, at least a few memories flashed by too quickly to catch. The third time, nothing at all happened. 

“Bloody hell, Harpalyke,” Annie snapped. “A bit of warning next time if you will.” 

“Sorry,” Harper said without meaning. “I had to catch you off guard, but it didn’t even work. Why?” 

Annie shrugged and picked up her sewing pattern, ready to resume. 

“Let me try again,” Harper demanded, heart fluttering against her ribs. 

“Fine,” Annie grumbled, sneaking in an eyeroll before gazing at Harper, unblinking. 

After another three unsuccessful attempts, Harper was forced to scrap it, for it was nearing half-past, time to go. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, sister,” she sighed. “I’ll send you a package for Christmas, alright? Write to me.” 

“Of course,” Annie replied, needle in hand, head bent. “Goodnight, sissy.”

Harper had only one minute to get back to Hogwarts. She walked as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. A couple of curious looks were thrown her way, but they went ignored. 

“Defense office, Hogwarts!” she commanded, throwing down the powder. This time at least wasn’t so exuberant; she simply landed on her feet back in Riddle’s fireplace. 

“Professor, I can’t get into my sister’s mind for more than a minute,” she said in one breath, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “Why is that? I don’t have a problem with the mouse.”

Riddle, who had been grading essays, set his quill down and appraised her. “Perhaps you’re out of practice with the human mind. You do know it’s significantly harder to break into than a mouse’s.” 

“Yes, but I’m even poorer at it than when I first started,” she protested, her voice increasing in pitch as she started to pace. “I had no experience at all and it worked, so why can’t I see not even a flash now? Wouldn’t all this practice, even on an animal, help me to—?”

“Harper,” Riddle cut her off impatiently, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat and relax.” 

She shut up and sat down, holding eye contact with him. He must have been using Legilimency on her, even though her mind wasn’t picking up on anything out of the ordinary. 

“You are not clearing your mind properly,” Riddle told her after a long pause. “You’ve got a lot in the forefront at once—your sister, exams, classwork, prefect duties…” A slight smirk caused his face. “...detention. This is not unusual for you now, Harper, nor will it be in the future, especially if you go on to Healer Training.” 

Harper hadn’t told anyone she planned on applying to Healer Training after the holidays, but evidently her mind had told Riddle without her knowledge. Merlin, was he able to see whatever he wished at will? Were none of her thoughts safe? This alone was enough to strengthen her resolve to master Occlumency. 

“Occlumency is a skill that needs to be constantly exercised,” he continued. “It needs to be your default setting. Even after that, there is much improvement to be made. Harsh, aggressive Legilimency is the first stage, the rough draft. The more subtle, the easier it is to slip through barriers.”

Harper nodded and looked away, trying to clear her mind. Keeping it clear at all times seemed impossible. Not even half a second later, she was already wondering how she was going to pass the last twenty minutes of the detention. Normally, he had her type his notes, usually unrelated to Defense, for about forty-five minutes. The remaining fifteen of detentions past had been spent sitting on the top of his desk with his mouth exploring hers. The fifteen-minute mark was approaching, but after his slight reprimand before St. Mungo’s, she suspected he’d put her to work. 

She glanced at him. He was still studying her, his head tilted to the side. “When you are stressed, your line of thought moves rapidly as you try to predict the outcome of the source of your worry. Whereas when you’re calm, you take in your surroundings and save the analysing for another time. This is what you must do all the time regardless of how you feel. Take in all the information, slide it through the barrier, and revisit it later.”

His words made sense, but that was clearly much easier said than done in her case. 

“Stand up and follow me,” he said suddenly, rising from his desk. 

Harper obeyed, assuming they were going to the classroom. However, Riddle walked the other way, through the door to the room with the fire. 

It was indeed a bedroom, she saw upon entering. Against the far wall was a neatly-made bed, slightly bigger than the ones in the dormitories. A desk stood under the window covered with a heavy curtain. 

Her heart was thumping again, this time in her throat. Just being in this room felt like she was crossing the line into forbidden territory. 

Riddle closed the door behind them and traced his wand around the edge. It glowed neon-red for a moment as he turned to her, gesturing to the bed. “Sit, Harper.”

Tentatively, she lowered her rear to the edge of the bed while her thoughts ran wild, exactly what he told her not to let happen. Was he going to hex her? Perform more Legilimency? Touch her? Would she stop any of it? _No,_ a brisk, snide voice in her head answered. 

He sat next to her, turned her face toward his, and kissed her softly. He pulled away for a second, running the pad of his thumb over her lips before resuming harder. Their heavy breaths filled the room as he nudged her to lie down. 

“Clear your mind,” he whispered in her ear, leaning over her and trailing his hand down to her chest. 

She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out but his mouth on her neck and his fingers unbuttoning her blouse. After the third button, he abruptly sat up, losing patience, and pulled the blouse apart, revealing the silk bra she’d swiped from Annie’s wardrobe over the summer. Annie was rather smaller than her, so the pale skin of her ample bosom spilled out. 

“Clear it, Harper,” he hissed in her neck, squeezing her breasts through the fabric. His mouth moved lower and his hand traced the curve of her hips, landing on her inner thigh. Harper kept her eyes closed and focused on her breaths, which were steadily increasing. He was pulling her skin between his lips, kneading it between his teeth. It hurt, but the current of pleasure running through her nerves pushed the pain aside. 

Soon there was nothing in existence but his mouth on her skin, hand gripping her leg, and dark, thick hair gathered in her fist. For just one moment, she worried about the hand sliding up her skirt, but when it settled in between her legs, she welcomed it. 

It began to rub, speeding up her breath even more. Only two layers were between her delicate skin and his fingertips, and her entire body was warming up from the contact. Harper opened her eyes, realised what was actually happening, and pulled away. 

“What is it?” Riddle asked, meeting her eyes. He didn’t look too pleased with her. 

“I’m not ready.” Her voice came out meek and childish, but still it came, not letting her relent. 

He sat up, tugging her hand until she did the same. “Fair enough, but at least let me show you how to take care of yourself properly.” 

Harper opened her mouth to ask what on Earth that meant, but then he seized her shoulder and brought her back to his chest. Meanwhile, his other hand took hers and pressed her fingers against the soft cushion of skin between her legs. 

“Relax, pretty girl,” he instructed in her ear, pulling her leg over his. “Clear your mind.” 

His hand slid into her hair and gripped a fistful, holding her head in place. He spoke to her in a low growl, his breath hot against her ear. “I know all of your wishes, Harper. I know you’ve thought about this on your bed with the drapes drawn. It’s my hand you pretend is yours when you touch yourself, yes? My voice in your ear, telling you you’re a naughty little witch.” 

Though Harper could barely hear his words over her heavy breaths, they heated her up all the same. He increased the pace, while her face flushed and a bell started to chime deep in her ears. She let out a long, drawn-out “oh!” in release before he took his hand away.

Tiny dots filled the air as she propped herself up on weak knees, trying to adjust herself and keep her balance at the same time. Riddle stood and held her elbow, preventing her from toppling over. Then he released her and checked his watch. “It’s fifteen minutes past.” 

Without waiting for a response, he left the room. The last two detentions had ended abruptly and after nine as well. Harper appreciated the abruptness, for it jolted her back to reality. Taking a deep breath, she gave herself a downward glance and walked out. 

“Until next Friday, Miss Messier,” Riddle said tonelessly as she passed, closing the office door behind her before she could answer. 

Harper’s cheeks were still flushed and her hair was a mess from his grip. She ran a hand through it as she headed back to the dormitory to collect the rounds reports Alphard Black had requested this morning. 

She was having a spot of trouble sorting out how she felt about what she’d just done with her professor. _Naughty witch_ , his voice echoed in her head. Perhaps it meant _shameful and unladylike_ , but that didn’t damper the thrill of satisfaction. Clearly, Harper had a rebellious streak, and she saw no reason to sever it now. 

~

Alphard was starting to suspect that every prefect had abandoned their rounds this evening. After hours of studying, he made himself take a break and started to roam the castle. 

On the fourth floor, he noticed something slightly odd: students of all Houses and years seemed to be congregating in the Arithmancy classroom. One of them was Ignatius Prewett, who gave Alphard a nod as they passed each other through the corridor. Alphard thought about slipping inside the classroom to find out what was going on, but just then, Beatrice Winter appeared arm-in-arm with Antonia Longbottom. Since he didn’t care much for the latter, he decided this mystery gathering couldn’t be much to worry about if the Head Girl was participating. 

He moved onto the fifth floor, which was all but deserted. The sixth and seventh would likely be, too. Just as he was about to head back to the common room, he spotted Felix Murdoch, who did not see him at first and continued his activity. 

He was crouched in front of what looked like an ordinary brick wall, but a square near the floor was a slightly different shade of brown. Noticing Alphard, he jumped up and hastily shoved a roll of parchment in his robes. “Oi, Alphard! How are you, mate?” 

“What are you doing?” was all Alphard could think to ask. 

“Slipped and nearly fell on my face,” the other replied smoothly, brushing off the sleeves of his robes for effect. “I was actually, er, looking for Messier. I haven’t seen her around much.” 

Though Alphard suspected Murdoch had been up to something unrelated, he didn’t challenge the explanation. “She’s studying, I suppose,” he told him as the pair walked down the corridor. “Actually, now”—he checked his watch—”she ought to be in detention.” 

“Huh?” Murdoch had a similar expression to Alphard’s when Mel had first told him the news. “What the hell’s she done?” 

“Haven’t an idea.” 

They departed in the common room when Alphard went to his room to fetch the rounds reports. He remembered just then that he had all of them except Harper’s. Briefly, he reflected on the meeting with Mel when she’d handed hers in that afternoon. She seemed much different. Improved, no longer doped up on Double P. Yet she wasn’t a bundle of emotions, either. She’d built up strength somehow. 

He sighed and checked his watch. Ten more minutes until nine, when Harper’s detention was over. He swapped his Arithmancy textbook with Herbology, dreading the task of memorising the long list of flora. 

After gathering and organising all the rounds reports, the clock struck nine, so Alphard headed to the Defense room. She didn’t seem to be out yet, so he waited outside the door. After a few minutes of no activity, he decided he’d missed her, so he returned to the common room, empty as per usual when Yaxley was there, since everyone but Rosier tended to avoid him. 

“Icarus, have you seen Harper Messier?” Alphard asked. 

Yaxley, holding a goblet of what looked and smelled like firewhiskey, shook his head. “Probably lying under Murdoch if he found her.” 

So Murdoch had been looking for her at one point, but clearly his mission had changed before Alphard had found him. He thought of the patch of discolored bricks and made a mental note to check it out eventually. 

He glanced at Yaxley, who was staring at the fire, orange reflected in his blue eyes. Alphard could see the shadows under them and only a sliver of his usual arrogance. Feeling awkward about leaving without a goodbye, he excused himself. 

At first, Yaxley hadn’t seemed to have heard him, but as soon as Alphard’s back was turned, he said, “If you see Messier, send her my way.”

“Er, alright,” replied Alphard, even though he wouldn’t send even his awful cousin Walburga anywhere near Yaxley.

It was already nine-twenty, so odds were more likely that he’d missed Harper coming out of detention. Perhaps she went to the library, he thought as he left the common room. However, no sooner than the stone wall sealed shut behind him, she appeared in the corridor. 

“Oi, Alphard, let me fetch the reports,” she said, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her hair in the back was mussed. 

“Er—” Alphard began, but she was already slipping into the passageway. He was required to get the reports to Dippet before the old man went to bed, so he waited for her. 

She returned five minutes later, her nose wrinkled like she smelled something nasty. When she saw Alphard, her face returned to normal, but a scowl remained. 

“Everything alright?” he asked, taking the scrolls. 

“Just Yaxley being Yaxley,” she replied, rolling her eyes. 

Alphard nodded sympathetically and turned to leave, but then a recurring question sprung to his mind. “Say, what has Riddle got you doing in detention? He’s not hexing you, is he?” 

Harper shook her head, breaking into a rare grin. “Oh no, of course not. I’m typing up his notes is all.”

Her physical appearance suggested something more strenuous than typing, but Alphard was not digging into that. He bade her goodnight and took the scrolls up to the Headmaster’s Tower. On his way there, he pictured an algebraic formula with goings on at Hogwarts as symbols—Harper’s detention, Murdoch’s behavior, Theobroma’s 180-degree outlook, Mel’s strength—by themselves meaningless, but linked together by the one symbol he couldn’t decipher. 

His presence as Head Boy was enough for the stone gargoyle to step aside, granting him access to Dippet’s office. He ascended the moving spiral staircase, the moonlight from the high window above bouncing off his shoulders. Upon arriving at the platform, he knocked on the oak double-doors. 

“Enter,” Dippet called. “Ah, Mr. Black.” He raised his arm as Alphard entered. “Here to turn in the reports, yes? Have a seat, my boy.’ 

Alphard set the scrolls down on the large desk and sat in a small wooden chair clearly meant for a wayward student. 

“How is everything out there, Black?” Dippet asked, eyeing the Head Boy for the first time in a long while. “Are the students...reacting to the Minister’s visit?” 

“Erm, not particularly, sir,” Alphard responded; it was half the truth. The students weren’t behaving worse than the usual amount as of late, but that didn’t mean the atmosphere was normal, either. 

Dippet shook his head and looked over at a table across the room with an assortment of magical objects on top. For a moment, his droopy hazel eyes watered, his expression pained. A strong mix of pity mixed with horror overtook Alphard’s chest. He hadn’t a clue what to do if the headmaster started to cry. 

Thankfully, Dippet blinked and his expression reverted back to one of thoughtfulness. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and laced with concern. “I can’t help but wonder what some of the students are up against under the Minister’s Regime. I’d like to believe the words of his speech, but Albus has spoken of his true nature…” 

Unsure of how to respond, Alphard kept quiet, picking at the skin around his thumb. 

“Tom assures me that I can trust in the Regime,” Dippet continued, more to himself. “And he’s given me no reason not to trust his judgement.”

 _Other than joining up with a band of anti-muggle wolves and unleashing a murderous monster within the castle in his fifth year_ , Alphard replied bitterly in his head. Glaring at his knees, he stayed silent. 

After another minute of watching the headmaster sink into his own thoughts, he excused himself and went back through the castle to the dungeons with the intent to continue studying. That went out the window once he sat at his desk and looked at his Herbology textbook. 

Retaining information seemed impossible with all the questions blazing in his head. Did Grindelwald mean a word he’d said in the Great Hall? Did Riddle support him as much as he claimed to? How much influence did he actually have over Dippet? They were piled on top of the existing questions regarding his classmates. But he couldn’t go searching for answers just yet. After exams, he would be able to sift through the questions, to turn them over and organise them. Then perhaps the pieces would fit into the formula and the world would make more sense. 

~ 

Of course Murdoch was already five minutes late. As devoted to the Dark Lord he claimed to be, he didn’t seem to value anyone’s time but his own. As the seconds ticked by, Tom grew more frustrated. 

Finally, the prat stepped into the classroom. “Professor Riddle?” he called, traces of smugness in his voice. 

“In here, Mr. Murdoch,” Tom tried not to snap as he stacked the freshly-printed exams in a neat pile and slid them into the top drawer. “Have a seat.” 

The boy held up a large scroll and asked, “May I?” 

Tom gestured for him to proceed, so Murdoch placed it on the desk and unrolled it, revealing a rough sketch of the castle and grounds. 

“There are three areas that don’t seem to be commonly known among the staff and students,” he explained, pointing to a spot on the main floor. “Here is a tunnel that leads directly to Hogsmeade. I found it when I’d learned that first-years are not permitted to go without a slip signed by their parents. My mum only knows Gaelic, see, and it would’ve taken my dad ages to get it to Dippet with all the paperwork he’s got.” 

Tom said nothing, waiting for the boy to get on track. Fortunately, Murdoch sensed his impatience and moved his finger to a spot on the fifth floor. “There’s something here, a tunnel, I reckon, by the looks of it, but I’ve got to delve into it further. I was about to yesterday, but Black nearly caught me. I dunno how he could be nearly _everywhere at once_ —”

“And the third, Felix?” Tom interrupted sharply. 

“Right, the third’s over here on the seventh floor. There’s a room… Grisham had told me it was a washroom with a grand bathtub and the like, figured it was for the professors or something. But when I went up there the first time, I couldn’t find it. He said it’s behind this statue here, but all I found was a broom closet.”

Halfway through the monologue, Tom’s mind started to wander, but he kept his eyes on the map. It looked to be fairly accurate, to Murdoch’s credit. 

“Then the second time, I went to the same area, and lo and behold, there was the washroom,” Murdoch continued. “The funny thing is, it was next to that exact statue. I checked over and over.” 

Out of feigned interest, Tom glanced at where Murdoch’s bitten-nailed finger was resting and frowned. It was the exact spot he’d found the Room of Hidden Things, where he had to walk three times in front of for the entrance to appear. Tauriello also claimed her potions lab was in that same area, though he’d never checked it out. Perhaps the room worked differently than he thought. 

“Thank you, Felix,” he told the boy, leaning back in the chair. “Please continue to work on this and also tell Icarus that there will be a meeting held in this office at ten o’clock. I would like you both to be there.”

“Yes, sir.” Murdoch rolled up the parchment and left the office. 

Ten o’clock was two hours away, which were spent in front of the typewriter, typing up the seventh-year exam. He’d had Messier type up the others, but he didn’t want to give her a glimpse on what to expect, even if she’d likely keep it to herself. Though he had to admit, she would do well enough regardless. 

By half-past nine, Tom was kicking himself for that decision. As the urge to hurl the machine passed through him, he cleared his desk and prepared for the meeting. At exactly ten o’clock, the firewhiskey was on the table and his Knights filled the room, having entered through the fireplace. 

Nine men—Lestrange, Avery, Mulciber, the Black cousins, Malfoy, Delmont, Murdoch, and Yaxley—sat around the table next to his desk. “Gentlemen,” Tom said from his seat at the head. “Since our Leader has given his speech at Hogwarts, I’ve seen that many are apprehensive about his words, that you suspect he is playing a game. It matters not who the current Minister is. Not for us. We have more control than he does, yes? We hold the resources.”

He paused, basking in the silence for a moment. “Our Leader’s Regime is not an obstacle. We have similar objectives to his, though his deviate a fair amount. He is not English, for one—he knows not the history and the ways of our society. Thus, we must not place our blind faith in him. We need to maintain control and protect ourselves against our true enemies: muggles, and those who wish to integrate them.” 

Cygnus Black, who likely had a bit to drink before the meeting, nodded his head. “Hear, hear.” 

“I agree, my Lord,” Delmont added. 

They raised their goblets and took a drink. Tom leaned back, the signal that the speech was over, and they were free to speak among themselves and give updates. Of course, since they were at Hogwarts in the presence of two students, they couldn’t be too candid. After the third round of firewhiskey, he concluded the meeting. “Remember, gentlemen,” he told them as they lined up in front of the fireplace. “Magic is might.”

“Magic is might,” they chorused with enthusiasm albeit in various levels. No matter—they were all devoted enough to his ideas, if not him. 

He had the usual burst of arousal after a meeting but unfortunately, he had to shove it aside when a knock came to his door not ten minutes after the two students departed his office. 

He opened the door to see his favorite prefect, the obedient and efficient Eileen Prince, holding Otylia Masiakiewicz by the arm. “The spray-paint again, sir,” the elder witch said in greeting. 

Not wishing to deal with Masiakiewicz drooling over him in detention, Tom deducted fifty house points and sent the girls on their way. The encounter cleared his head a bit, so he decided to have another goblet and make a list. 

Hogwarts was his, not in title but in the social sense, which held more weight. The majority of the castle was wrapped around his finger, and his influence beyond was extending. There were levels to his followers, and it was time to map it out. He dipped his quill into the inkpot and began to write: 

_1: Knights_  
_1a: Lestrange, Avery, Mulciber_

These were the originals, the ones he took to the Chamber and proved himself worthy and capable of command. These three, two of which were wealthy purebloods, would remain elevated in society and, out of both greed and fear, loyal. 

_1b: Cygnus and Orion Black, Malfoy_

This trio was the one with the wealth, influence, and connections. Their loyalty was still tentative, but there nonetheless. Cygnus thought him brilliant and Orion followed whatever Cygnus believed, since the boy didn’t have much of a mind of his own. 

Malfoy was a different story. He professed allegiance genuinely, but there was a hesitance, a distance kept. As long as it didn’t grow or interfere, Tom would pay it no mind. After all, it was because of Malfoy and his father, who in turn influenced Murdoch and his father, that his fireplace was connected unregistered to the Floo Network. 

_1c: Yaxley, Delmont, Murdoch_

Otherwise known as the “babies,” the term that had been assigned to the newly-orphaned snivelling snots at Wool’s, regardless of their actual ages. Though these three boys were proving themselves capable so far, they still had a lot to learn. 

_2: Potential_  
_2a: Black, Rosier, Grisham_

The former was too hesitant and the latter two were not the brightest, but each of their families were well-connected to the Ministry. It was still unclear whether they were worth it to pursue. 

He pressed the quill underneath that line, ready to add a new category, but paused, considering Messier. He was going to count out witches by default, since they were usually of little use to him. Of course, their behavior amused him every so often. For example, Masiakiewicz and Tauriello, once close friends, were now in heated rivalry to win his attention. 

Not so amusing were the girls who were distractions to his Knights, such as McCready, though she had magical potential of her own. Because of Murdoch and Yaxley, Messier fell into that category. They wanted her, he got her. That was part of the thrill of having her, aside from her being his student, a looker, and Charles Messier’s daughter. 

Yet she was different from the others. Messier did not admire him like the rest of the witches he encountered. She was wary of him but didn’t fear him. Naturally, the privileged few who knew about the Chamber of Secrets were wary of him, but hers was of the indifferent sort. This irked Tom a bit: he let her Floo to St. Mungo’s and brought her to climax, and this girl had the nerve to resist him?

That won’t last long, he assured himself. A couple more detentions and the girl would be clamoring for him like the others. He checked his watch. Ten minutes wasted mulling over a silly witch. Moving on, he added the next category:

_3: Neutral_  
_3a: Dippet, Slughorn, Prewett_  
_3b: Other staff and students_

As far as he knew, he hadn’t an enemy inside the castle or inside the Ministry, but his eternal nemesis was still out there somewhere. Tom knew there would be a time when he’d have to eliminate him, preferably with his own wand. 

_4: Undesirables_  
_4a: Dumbledore_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Harper and Tom was originally way more explicit, so I toned it down. 
> 
> I typed up a couple of chapters in advance, so twice-monthly updates for real this time. :)


	15. Revelations

Surprisingly, being home for the holidays was turning out to be a pleasant affair, even despite the absence of Auntie Bertha. Mum had moved her bed to the corner and decorated it with pillows, so it looked as if she might’ve waltzed in at any moment. This was comforting to Mel, but it gave her trouble to stand on that side of the room. 

Dad had recently got a promotion at work and Mum was granted a real three-day holiday, so the mood on Christmas was merry. Mel put on a record, and she and her mother sang along while cooking. If the new couple upstairs heard them, it wasn’t a bother, for there were no complaints. 

“Have you found a suitor yet, dear?” Mum asked as they glazed the quarter-ham. “You’re quite a looker. I bet wizards are chasing you all over that school.” 

“Not quite,” Mel answered vaguely. She briefly wondered if she should tell her mother about Alphard, but there was a possibility of upsetting her, which Mel was not willing to do. Above all else, Mel had to ensure Mum got a chance to relax. 

“Well, with marks like yours, you can surely land a job at the Ministry,” her mum said brightly, swiping the meat with flourish. 

Not the way things are going, Mel didn’t say, forcing the negative thoughts from her mind. No use stressing on Christmas—Magical Britain would remain in its current state, which was bearable, for the holiday at least. 

Once supper was on the table, the three remaining members of the McCready family sat down to eat. The food was rich and delicious, the kitchen cosy and warm. Dad, who looked much more withdrawn since the start of the school year, smiled and told stories of silly encounters that required a bit of memory modifications. Mel knew from recent eavesdropping that Dad dealt with a lot of horrific muggle-wizard violence, but he didn’t bring any of that to the table. 

When the plates had been cleared, the record came back on and Mum pulled out a bottle of wine from a cabinet. “What do you say we have a glass or two for the holiday?” 

Mel sat at the table, full stomach preventing her from moving. First, she hesitated. The last time she’d had wine was when Auntie Bertha was taken, and any association from that night was painful. Then, after deliberation, she nodded. “Yes, alright.” 

A splash of deep red filled the glass. Just as Mel brought it to her lips, there came a knock on the door. 

“That’ll be Mrs. Whitney,” Mum said absentmindedly, levitating the delicate china and placing it carefully in the display cabinet. “Mel, give her the plate of biscuits by the door, won’t you? Ask her in for tea.” 

“Alright.” Mel opened the door, plate in hand, expecting the round, kind face of Deirdre Whitney, the muggle lady living on the second floor. However, it was a tall, male figure standing in the dim, flickering light of the stairwell: Walden. 

“Merlin’s beard, Mel,” he said with a mix of surprise and false bravado. “You’re turning into a lady, I see.” 

His pale blue eyes were ensconced in puffy, sagging skin, his cheeks blistery red and dotted with blonde stubble. Yet despite this, her brother held himself to perhaps more dignity than he should have after running out on them. 

Behind her, their parents carried on, assuming she was with Mrs. Whitney. The record had drowned out Walden’s words. A second later, a shrill “Donnie!” rang out through the kitchen. 

“Good god,” Dad gasped, unwittingly bumping Mel out of the way with his shoulder. She lost balance as the tray clattered to the floor, biscuits bouncing off their shoes. Dad and Mel both dove for it, narrowly avoiding knocking their heads together as Mum stood frozen, tea kettle in hand. Walden, the only one with his wits about him, waved his wand and set the plate back on the counter, the biscuits forming a neat pile on top. 

“May I come in?” he asked at last. 

The question snapped Mum out of her reverie. “Yes, of course. We’ve just finished supper, but I can make you a plate if you’d like. You look a bit peckish—not saying unwell, of course…” 

She was babbling in this odd, high-pitched tone, arranging slices of ham, potatoes, and brussel sprouts on one of the china plates, while Dad stood about a foot away from his son, looking like he’d been confunded. “Well, have a seat, then,” he managed, jerking his head toward the table.” 

Walden took off his cloak and hat and hung them in the same spot he’d used for over twenty years. Having no idea what to do, Mel took her seat and clutched her wine glass, not daring to take a sip. A strong reaction was raging through her body, prickling her limbs, but wouldn’t reach her brain. 

Walden was evidently too hungry to keep up his stiff, hesitant demeanor, for he sat next to his sister, picked up his fork, and immediately tucked in as his family looked on with unease. Out of the corner of her eye, Mel saw her mother swallow the rest of her wine in one gulp. 

“Excellent like always, Mum,” he said at last, setting down his utensils and wiping his mouth. “It’s great to see you all, though I wish you’d look a bit happier to see me.”

“Son—” 

“I understand why. None of you are to blame for falling for the propaganda. It’s shockingly common.”

Before Dad could open his mouth again, Walden turned to his sister. “How are things at Hogwarts, Meli?” 

_Terrible_ , she wanted to say, but not just to spite him. His use of her childhood nickname had stirred up the urge to tell someone who had been Walden for the first sixteen years of her life. 

In the end, all she said was, “It’s grand.” 

“I’ve heard the Minister had a visit. I know you’d prefer not to believe it, but his words are sincere.”

Mum, after another surreptitious glass of wine, asked gently, “Walden, where is Auntie Bertha?” 

Walden’s face froze, but it was barely perceptible. Only Mel was close enough to catch it. “She is safe, I assure you. The Ministry has top-notch modification skills. She is happy.”

He appeared convinced by his words, but Mum wasn’t accepting them. “She is not safe, Walden, and you goddamn know it. They go to work camps and undergo experiments until they die an early death!” 

“Mum, that’s _Hitler_ you speak of,” Walden said patiently. “He and our Leader are not one and the same. In fact, Grindelwald had little to do with him.”

Mel wanted to buy it, swayed by his reverent, confident tone. She wanted to believe that her brother was the same person she’d grown up with. 

“How can you be so sure? They’re masters of deceit, my boy. They’re spoon-feeding you lies!” 

“Mum—”

“Enough!” Mel blurted, much louder and higher than she intended. When they all stared at her, she added in a calmer tone, “I wish not to have a row on Christmas.”

To her surprise, the other three instantly heeded her request. Mum snatched Walden’s plate from the table and set it in the sink. While Mel washed it, she put on the kettle. Dad and Walden sat at the table, both looking down at her hands. 

Dessert was passed silently. When the pie was all eaten and the teapot empty, Walden stood and took up his cloak. “I’m in my old spot at the Ministry. Please write to me if you need anything at all.” He addressed Mel as he pulled his hat on. “That goes for you as well, Meli.” 

On his way out, to the others’ complete bewilderment, a sack slid out of his cloak and landed with a clank on the stove. In the same second, the door closed behind him, and he was simply gone. 

Mum stepped toward the sack and snatched it up. When she opened it, her eyes widened and her hand flew to her chest. 

“What is it?” Dad asked, frowning in alarm. 

“It’s...at least a thousand galleons,” she answered in disbelief, shaking the bag so that the coins clinked together. 

Meanwhile, Mel had tuned out her surroundings, placing all of her mental energy into keeping her rear in the seat instead of bolting after her brother. _Waldi, wait_ , she’d say, and they’d talk it all out and return to normal. But she knew that was no longer possible.

To further fight the urge, she went to her bedroom and closed the door before sitting on her bed. On the wall behind her was Mum’s gift: a string of lights that blinked softly between red, green, and white. A particular memory stuck out without relent, which took place the summer before Mel started Hogwarts. 

1941—it had been nearly hell in London then. Mel was eleven and unable to step foot outside, since they were in the midst of one never-ending air-raid, or so it seemed. Despite the danger, Walden had returned for Easter, bringing a brand new game of Exploding Snap he’d gotten as a gift from one of his friends at school. Together, amid the shaking, sirens, and street ruckus, the pair of them had played the entire week, resulting in Mel becoming quite skilled at it. She could even play in the dark, since lights weren’t allowed on after sundown. 

_He’s not the same_ , a stern voice said in her mind, tugging her back into the present. _He’s not the boy who came back willingly for you in ‘41._ He left them for good. 

Sorrow welled up in her chest, bubbling through her veins and circulating through her heart. Instead of picturing Walden, oddly, the mouse from the Defense room appeared in her head, a result of practising Riddle’s association technique. 

Wouldn’t he be proud, Mel thought sardonically. In the moment of clarity, she realised the heaviness in her chest had subsided a bit. Over and over, she pictured the mouse, transferring her ill feelings to it until she lie on her bed, fully clothed, and fell into a deep sleep. 

~

Boxing Day was always a jolly affair at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, since everyone in attendance was either too wealthy to work or in high enough positions to extend their holiday another day. Thus by eight o’clock, the wine was flowing and the guests’ mouths became looser. 

Normally, Alphard would be stuck next to Cygnus’ side, watching his brother drink goblet after goblet and speak in crude language to his friends about witches. Luckily for this Christmas, he was excused from that by his sweet cousin Lucretia visiting from France. 

Out of everyone in the Black lineage, which spanned across centuries and bloodlines, there was no family member Alphard preferred over Lucretia. Though his loyalty lie first to Cygnus, he enjoyed Lucretia’s company over his and Orion’s, and a hell of a lot more than Walburga’s.

“How’s it going, Head Boy?” she asked over supper and since then, the conversation bounced amicably back and forth. She had plenty of amusing anecdotes from France, and he eagerly shared stories of havoc-wreaking students and Peeves. Lucretia laughed merrily upon hearing how he caught the infamous Double T. 

“Golly, Alphard, the castle’s gone mad,” she exclaimed, shaking her head and pressing a palm to her chest. “Say, what do you plan on doing after Hogwarts?” 

He shrugged; he suspected Pollux, his father, had an idea where to plant the youngest Black in the Ministry. “Not sure yet.”

Lucretia accepted that answer, flashing a bright smile full of straight teeth at him. “I’m sure with your marks, you’ll be able to go anywhere. You’re one of the cleverest of all.”

Alphard raised his goblet to his lips in an attempt to hide his tingeing cheeks. He was ashamed, especially after his sister and cousin’s union, to be thinking of Lucretia in any other way than familial, but she was so damn beautiful: sleek, black hair, curvy figure, almond-shaped dark eyes. He thought of Mel and his shame was compounded, sprinkled with jagged rocks of guilt. What on Earth had gotten into him? 

Face still flushed, Alphard looked around and saw that he and Lucretia were the only ones left on their end of the table, save for Aurelia Parkinson, Beryl Fawley, and Druella Rosier, Alphard’s future sister-in-law. Cygnus had abandoned his fiancee for the time being, taking the other boys with him. 

“Where’s Cygnus?” he asked Druella, knowing the answer already. 

“Upstairs, I suppose,” she replied, waving a hand in disinterest. 

He was indeed upstairs in his bedroom, a congregation formed. The door was ajar, but by the staircase where Alphard stood, the noise from downstairs drowned out his words. Slowly, he crept closer, trying to be silent, but his shoes made a tapping sound every time they connected with the marble floor. He was reduced to taking one large step. 

“...supports Grindelwald. You reckon the two will collaborate? Old Grindy was quick to pair up with that German muggle after all.” 

Alphard recognised the voice as Murdoch’s.

“I doubt it,” said Yaxley. “The way he made it sound is that Grindelwald’s only a useful advantage for the Dark Lord to carry out his plans. That’s what he said after the speech, right?” 

Murdoch hummed in agreement. 

“We must trust in the Dark Lord’s plan.” Cygnus was speaking now, in a clear, authoritarian voice. “He knows best of all how to utilise the Regime. He heard the speech first hand, and if anyone interpreted the Minister’s speech correctly, it’s him.”

Just then the door opened all the way and Felix Lestrange stumbled in the corridor directly in front of Alphard. 

“Lestrange, where the hell are you going?” Cygnus snapped. “Get back here!”

“Alphard is here,” Lestrange informed him, “and I’ve got to use the bathroom if it’s alright, Your Highness.” 

“Sod off. Alphard, come in here.” 

Alphard took a step forward, catching a strong whiff of firewhiskey as Lestrange passed him with a slow, unsteady gait. His mind raced at light speed, going directly to Cygnus’ previous words: _Minister’s speech...heard first hand…_ The Dark Lord, in order to have heard Grindelwald’s speech first hand, would had to have been present at Hogwarts during the speech. His mind instantly narrowed it down to one person. 

Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord. This revelation occurred just as Alphard stepped into Cygnus’ bedroom, now surrounded by seven young men staring at him, gauging his reaction. The door slammed shut behind him. 

“Have a seat, brother,” Cygnus said, also scrutinising him as he conjured a small armchair by his side. “How much have you heard?” 

Alphard’s mind was failing, but his mouth seemed to form words steadily on its own. “The bit about the Minister’s speech.” His rear sank into the seat, but his back stayed rod-straight and rigid. 

“And what do you reckon? Worked it out, have you?” 

He noticed Cygnus took on the demeanor of Riddle, assuming the role of leader in his absence. He’d said enough; there was no use lying at this point. “Yes.” 

“What do you think of it? Be honest, brother. We’re all on the same side here.” 

After much hesitation, Alphard came up with an honest, neutral answer. “It makes sense.”

It did make sense, now that his brain was working properly. With as much power as Riddle had in the castle, it wasn’t unthinkable that he had just as much outside of it. It made sense why Riddle seemed to be the voice of the Dark Lord, how he knew about him more than anyone else. 

“Indeed,” his brother said, nodding before taking a sip of his goblet. “Yet I sense some discomfort.” 

“It’s because of his girlfriend, McCready,” Yaxley blurted, a deep flush across his face, eyes watery.

Cygnus’ lip curled in disgust. “You’re still on her? For shit’s sake, Alphard, pick a pureblood. Isn’t the non-mental Messier still free?”

“Her father is strict about her,” Murdoch said at once. 

“Her father can lick the boot of any Black,” Cygnus shot back. “Our family name is worth ten times his. It would be the blessing of his life if we took either of his daughters.” 

“How about this,” Yaxley suggested, a malicious glint in his eye. “You marry Messier, Alphard, I’ll take McCready, and when it’s all said and done, we switch.” 

James Avery laughed out loud, spilling rum down his front. Cygnus looked on with amusement, sitting on the sofa as if it was a throne. “Oi, shut your trap already,” said Murdoch, goaded past his limit. 

Alphard decided he’d had enough and stood. “I’m turning in, gentlemen. Goodnight.” 

Thankfully, Cygnus was occupied with the threat of a duel breaking out between Murdoch and Yaxley to pay Alphard any attention. “Can the pair of you quit the bickering for ten bloody minutes?” he bellowed as Alphard slipped out of the room. 

His own bedroom was three doors down, but the walk seemed to take longer than usual. Once the door was closed behind him, he fell onto his bed, letting out a breath as his back sank into the feathered mattress. Though he hated the thought of the Knights discussing Mel, he was glad Yaxley’s idiot mouth detracted from the real reason for Alphard’s discomfort toward the Dark Lord and Professor Riddle being the same person, which was that Riddle was an utter maniac. He was slowly converting these wizards into pawns in a quest to be the most powerful. 

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. If he was wavering in his belief of that, he sure wasn’t after his brother paid him a visit. 

A knock came on the door just as Alphard had hung up his robes. Wishing he had a quiet place he could Apparate to, he opened the door and came face-to-face with Cygnus. His eyes were slightly glazed, but he was still functional as far as Alphard could tell. “May I come in, brother?” 

“Of course.” As if there was any way Alphard would say no. He stepped back so Cygnus could enter. 

“Talk to me, brother,” the eldest said. “There’s something eating at you and I’d like to know what it is. Perhaps I can help.”

Alphard hesitated only a moment before speaking, his mind clicking together for once. “I—I’m simply sick of all the marriage talk. Harper Messier is swell, a very clever witch, but I haven’t got the slightest romantic inclination toward her and I’d bet a fair bit of gold she hasn’t got any for me, either. If I can’t have Mel, I want no one else at this time.”

Cygnus rolled his eyes but he relented. “Alright, I’ll lay off about it. Just please don’t chase after McCready. Half-bloods these days are as bad as mudbloods. Lesser witches are only after one thing: a husband with gold and status.” 

“That’s not true,” Alphard said, frowning, but Cygnus overrode him as if he hadn’t spoken. 

“We’re on another level, brother. That’s why the Dark Lord’s work is so crucial to staying on top.” He turned to his brother, completely sober all of the sudden. “He sees great potential in his seventh-year class, he’s told me. You’d do best to accept his lessons graciously, for there is no greater wizard you can work under.” 

His words stirred the contents of Alphard’s stomach, bringing on a wave of nausea. His brother, who formerly carried himself as he was the fittest wizard on Earth, spoke of Riddle with a disconcerting amount of reverence. 

“We are quite fortunate to all be descended from a bloodline of such nobility,” Cygnus continued, staring out the large window, through which shone pale yellow light from the streetlamp, blurred by the heavy snowfall. “We must continually uphold our honor by banding together to clean the filth.”

Alphard had nothing to say; he was hoping Cygnus would leave soon so he could lie down and massage his temples. It had been a long holiday already and he still had another week at home to go. Blessedly, after another minute of staring and pondering, Cygnus excused himself and Alphard was alone at last. Without hesitation, he locked his bedroom door and took off his robes. 

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, trying to conjure Mel, specifically her slightly crooked smile and shapely legs. Normally he could fall asleep just after the daydreaming crossed into explicit territory, but tonight, he didn’t come close to that point. After about three seconds, Mel’s sweet face was replaced by Riddle’s stoic one. Frustratingly enough, it wouldn’t budge. 

Alphard recalled the level of fear he had during Grindelwald’s speech, only a quarter of the level it was on now. Riddle seemed like a much greater threat, a force so dark and ruthless that he was bound to turn Magical Britain into a plot of grim discontent. For Merlin’s sake, he thought angrily, wasn’t this bloody war enough? An endpoint or even a break was nowhere in sight. 

First the Depression and now this. Or him, rather—the Dark Lord, the Heir of Slytherin, the brilliant professor… This man would not be stopped. 

Sooner or later, Alphard would have to join him, or lose his position in his family and the world. Or run away, or die. There were a few alternatives, but none were the least bit pleasant to even consider. 

~

Harper had planned to spend New Year’s Eve alone in her dormitory with a book, cup of tea, and a plate of her weakness, butter pecan biscuits. During the last second of supper, that plan was dropped when she was approached by Emmeline Arnold, a plump blonde Ravenclaw and best friend of Beatrice Winter, who’d gone home along with three-quarters of the castle. Emmeline invited Harper to a drink at the Three Broomsticks. 

After styling their hair, applying makeup, and changing into dress robes and high heels, the two girls met in the Entrance Hall. On the way, they were joined by Henry Higgins and Matthias Weyrich. Neither of the witches were enthused by this, so they were sure to pick a table with two seats in the most crowded corner. 

“Have you got a fancy, then?” Emmeline asked in between sips of butterbeer. Each of them clasped the thick glasses with both hands, thawing them from the icy wind. “I heard you and Murdoch got pretty close at some point.” 

Harper nodded noncommittally, hoping the line of questioning would end there. Despite the passing months, her father’s disruption of her relationship with Felix still made her angry, so she did not wish to bring it up. Hoping to shift the conversation, she asked, “And you?” 

“Hmm, well, I’ve got my eye on Alistair Gamp,” the other responded thoughtfully. 

Harper thought Gamp, who had taken over Weasley’s position as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, was an ignorant, loud-mouthed prat, but out of good faith, she kept that opinion to herself, nodding instead. 

The Three Broomsticks started to grow very crowded, filling up with older witches and wizards from all over. Once they saw the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office saddling up flirtatiously next to Professor Vector, Harper and Emmeline decided it was time to go. They finished up their second butterbeer and returned to the crisp outside air, relieved to be out of the stifling heat of the pub. 

Back in the castle, the girls parted ways, and Harper set out to the dungeons with her original intent of reading alone. However, her plans were thwarted yet again upon entering the common room, where a group of upper-year boys were clustered around the fireplace, drinking from an unlabeled bottle. Nearby, turned away from them, Eileen Prince was draped over an armchair, reading a thick book with brownish-yellow pages in the dim firelight. 

“Hello, Harper,” the leader of the pack called as they all turned to look. “Come and try some of this champagne. You’ll like it.” 

The boy, sixth-year Clovis Grisham, stood and took her hand, pulling her to the table. Sandy-haired and freckled, he wasn’t a day older than sixteen, yet quite forward, placing the other hand on the small of her back. Since a glass of champagne never hurt anyone, Harper let him lead her to the group. 

He offered up the armchair, sitting on a wooden chair nearby from one of the tables. A clean goblet was summoned, and he filled it with pale blue liquid before setting it in front of her. The boys continued their discussion about whether “the Knights” were supporters of the Regime or wished to overthrow it. 

Harper raised the goblet to her lips, listening intently. A sweet, vaguely familiar scent filled her nose, but she was too busy focused on the boys’ conversation to linger on it. 

“Rosier says they’re working with the Regime,” said Nott, a particularly twitchy one. “And he’s privy to a bit of information, given who he passes time with.” 

The champagne had a fruity taste Harper had never experienced before. She liked all types of champagne, and whatever was added to this one enhanced it. “Say, this is rather good,” she told Grisham, who was watching her. “What kind is it?” 

“It’s a special mixture,” he replied evasively, winking. “It contains an ingredient that’s, er, no longer in production.”

That was enough to deduce that it had been splashed with Double P. “She’s back in business, then?” 

“I don’t think so. This is her last bottle, she says. Charged me three times the price!” 

“Oi, Grisham,” one of his mates called, relieving Harper of him for a pleasant ten minutes. She continued to listen and soon pieced together that the Knights were a group of blokes that had gone to Hogwarts, mostly Slytherins. 

Briefly, she listed the members that she knew of: Murdoch, Yaxley, Black...no, not Alphard Black but the other two…those that had dropped out or finished...yet she felt like she was missing someone glaringly important. Unfortunately, the conversation switched to whom was the nicest-looking of the fifth and sixth-year girls. At least half nominated Theobroma Tauriello for first place. 

All the while, Grisham was not participating, taking large sips out of his goblet and glancing at Harper out of the corner of his eye. She saw him looking her up and down more than once and concluded that it was best to head to bed. The champagne mix, aside from its sweet taste, wasn’t doing anything other than bringing a burning flush to her cheeks. 

Harper looked around the room for Eileen Prince, but to her relief, she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to leave the younger girl alone with the boys. After finishing her goblet in three large gulps, she lied to Grisham, “I’ll be right back,” before flouncing away. 

The seventh-year girls’ dormitory was still and silent, since Harper was now the only occupant. Druella and Beryl were in their respective manors, learning how to be the perfect wife and host before they were to be married in the spring. Harper pitied them above all, but a large part of her missed them. Maintaining her marks and vigorous NEWT schedule left not much time for socialising. 

She picked up her own dull wooden brush and ran it through her hair. By then, the heat and activity had pulled all the curl out, but she didn’t care in the slightest. Leaning closer to the mirror, she inspected her appearance. Her cheeks were still bright pink, but the color enhanced her face. 

As she fixed her makeup, she felt the warmth of alcohol circulating through her blood. Edges were not so sharp, surroundings not so clear. Yet instead of the dizzy, drowsy feeling that accompanied her when drinking, only spikes of excitement passed through. She reapplied her lipstick and checked herself out again. 

Over the past year, she’d caught more than one wizard’s attention, which had caused her a fair bit of shame, unused to it. Was it simply because she was an of-age female from a respectable family, or was there something else? Now she felt confident, able to see what they might be attracted to besides her status. 

With another quick brush of her hair, she left the dormitory, deciding she wasn’t quite ready for bed yet. She had to stay up to greet 1947 after all, and reading could be done anytime. 

Adding to her luck, Grisham and his sycophants were all delirious by then, chatting rapidly in disrupted fragments, eyes bulging. Harper had no trouble slipping past them unnoticed. 

An apparent side effect of Grisham’s concoction was the increased command over her body over her mind. Normally it was the other way around: mind racing off, leaving her still. Her feet were working of their own accord, carrying her further into the dungeon, while her mind was blissfully blank. 

Her destination was the Defense room. No, more specific than that, for she was walking through the dark, empty classroom barely acknowledging the surroundings. 

The light shining through the crack to the office was dim but there nonetheless, so he was there nonetheless. Of course he’s there, she told herself, the bloke hasn’t left Hogwarts since ‘44. Fighting the urge to giggle, she raised her fist and knocked on the door twice. 

For a moment, nothing at all happened except Harper bouncing on the balls of her feet, impatient. Just as she was about to knock again, the door slowly opened on its own. 

The office was also dark and empty, but the room beyond, to which the door was slightly ajar, had a fire going by the look, smell, and feel of it. “Professor?” Harper asked tentatively. 

“Come in, Miss Messier, and close the door behind you,” Riddle’s voice replied, causing her to jump even though she’d been expecting it. She closed the door and took slow, slightly wobbly steps into the bedchamber. 

Riddle was sitting in the green armchair from his office next to the fireplace, a book in one hand and a goblet of something in the other. While Harper stood dumbly about five feet in front of him, he watched her with his eyebrows raised in mild curiosity. “What brings you here so late, dear?” 

“Today’s your birthday,” Harper stated as if this warranted a visit to her professor at eleven o’clock at night on New Year’s Eve. 

“Indeed it is,” he answered with traces of amusement. 

“You’re twenty.” 

“Indeed I am.” 

He could tell she was at the very least drunk, but he didn’t seem displeased by her presence. On the contrary, he seemed entertained by her. Perhaps even a haughty genius like Tom Riddle got lonely from time to time. 

She smiled to herself and looked down at her hands. Logic had awakened, instructing her to get out. _Alright, you’ve said enough, now go on._ Yet even her brain wasn’t listening to itself. Her mouth opened and spoke from a place that bypassed logic. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t brought you anything, but perhaps I could still give you something.” 

“Such as…?” 

“I don’t know.” Even in her hazy state, the words sounded immature; if she couldn’t even say it, how was she expected to give it? 

“I think you do know.” He was smirking now, egging her on. Setting the book and goblet on the small table, he flicked his wand, shutting and locking the door behind her. She took this as a cue to remove her robes, since the air in the room was deliriously hot. He had his robes off too, dressed in only a white button-down shirt and black trousers. 

Harper’s clothing underneath was just as simple: black thigh-high hose and a plain red dress that fell past her knees with a low-cut neck. Because of that detail, she’d kept her robes on the duration of the night, too shy to show that much skin. As soon as she’d hung up them on a hook in the door, she gave herself a brief once-over of her front, pulling up the neckline. It didn’t stay, letting the curves of her bust peek out again. Oh, well, she thought, turning around again. 

Riddle was patiently waiting for her “gift” but the problem now was that she couldn’t make herself move, overcome with a momentary burst of doubt. 

“Come,” he urged her, holding out his hand. When she walked over and placed hers in his, he tugged her onto his lap. With her knees hugging his hips, she leaned in and met his mouth. 

Her destination had not been the classroom but here, on his lap, breathing in his scent, a mix of wood, firewhiskey, and an old wardrobe. Overcome with desire, she gripped his shoulders and kissed him with abandon, not the least bit concerned about his reaction. He seemed to welcome it, slipping his cool hands under her dress to grip her thighs. 

She broke away from him to unbutton his collar, the world swaying around them. The Double P had a sort of time-interval release, intensifying as the alcohol fog faded. Her insides were burning now, her skin yearning for more. 

“What a naughty little witch, seducing her professor,” Riddle said in that low, teasing voice he’d used during the last detention. 

Harper pulled down his collar and ducked her head to trail her lips up his neck. His hands tightened on her legs, and against her chest she could feel his heart quickening. “Wouldn’t the Head of the Treasury be ever so appalled,” he continued to taunt as his hands slid further up her dress, “to find out how his precious Harpalyke is behaving?” 

“I’m not his,” she breathed in his ear. “I belong to no one.” 

“I’d argue that in this moment, you belong to me,” he replied, digging his fingers into her rear and rocking her hips back and forth over the stiffness in his trousers. 

“Do what you wish with me, then.” This husky voice, not her own, left her mouth in reckless lust. 

Without warning, Riddle stood, lifting her with unexpected ease, and brought her to his bed, where he threw her down roughly. She nearly bounced off the mattress, held back only by his grip on her wrists. He pinned them together and over her head with one hand, running the other down her heaving chest and stomach. 

“You don’t know what you’re offering, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in and pressing his mouth to hers. His hand slipped under her dress, trailing up the curve of her thigh before pulling her knickers aside. 

A sharp pain brought forth a tiny yelp, stifled by his rough kiss. When he pulled away, she felt him withdraw his finger and press it against her thigh, smearing faint, deep red across snow white. She was filled with fear or excitement—it was impossible to discern which—as he pulled down the top of her dress and cups of her bra, leaving smudges of red across her bare breasts. 

He ducked his head to leave his purple-black marks across them with his mouth. Harper was tilting her head back, fully into it, until he pulled off her knickers and unbuckled his trousers. Her mouth formed the word no, but her voice would not utter it. After studying her in this position for an uncomfortable moment, Riddle noticed she’d gone rigid. 

Releasing her wrists, he leaned over again to speak softly into her neck, stroking her cheeks. “I won’t hurt you, sweet girl. Relax and trust me.” 

Harper knew Riddle, knew he was charming her to open her legs wider and let him in. Her instinct was to resist, but it was being washed away by desire. Only his lips, voice, and hands were in control. When he did take her virginity once and for all with another snap of pain, she relaxed very shortly thereafter, letting out tiny sighs laced with pleasure and moving in rhythm with him. 

When they’d launched each other into the heavens, Riddle collapsed on top of her for a second, breathing heavily and pressing his cheek against hers. Then she blinked and he was off her, already upright and re-doing his trousers. Harper had not an ounce of energy to get up and out of there like she probably should’ve, so she simply pulled her dress over her knees, rolled over, and fell asleep. 

The next morning, the first thing Harper saw when she opened her eyes was the silver and green drapes over her bed. Letting out a yawn, she rolled over and pulled her blanket along—except this quilt was not hers. 

She sat straight up and was immediately assaulted by nausea, along with a pounding in her head. She was not in her dormitory. At first, she had no recollection of the room, never having seen it during the day. Moments later, the previous night came rushing back at her. 

She’d come here and _gone to bed_ with Professor Riddle. The soreness between her legs and thick, plum-colored crescents across her bosom prevented her from denying it. 

“Oh, hell,” she muttered in the same second the door swung open, startling her. Hastily, she pulled the quilt over her chest as Riddle entered, wearing that goddamn all-knowing smirk. 

“Hello there, little lush,” he said cheerfully, taking a seat in the armchair and lifting up a cup of tea. “Not feeling too well, I take it?” 

Harper shook her head before sinking it into her hands, rubbing her temples. “I’m never drinking that stuff again.” 

“I’ll bet,” he responded with a touch of sarcasm. “I suggest having something to eat.” 

“Good idea, sir,” she said gratefully, taking that as a dismissal and climbing out of his bed with her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest. She found that she couldn’t look his way, her cheeks permanently pink, or so it seemed. After hurriedly slipping on her robes and tying her hair up with ribbon, she was ready to bolt. As soon as her palm met the cold glass knob, Riddle spoke, holding her in place. 

“Harper.” 

Reluctantly, she turned and met his eyes. He was surveying her, back to his usual neutral, serious expression. “To fully complete your behavior book like I require, you must add yourself to it.” 

“Huh?” she blurted, thrown off guard. “I mean—” 

“Yourself,” he repeated. “To further clarify the obvious, it must contain a section under your own name.” 

All Harper could do was nod in consternation. She had enough sense to move her feet out of the chamber, through the office, and into the corridor, mind reeling even more. Out of the whole encounter, Riddle’s last request had taken her by the most surprise. Why on Earth would he want her to add herself to the book? He had surely gleaned enough about her through the years; not to mention he could flip through her mind almost anytime he wanted. 

The common room was silent. Everyone was sleeping off their hangovers. Harper washed up and locked herself in her dormitory, her mind continuously on Riddle. Just as she thought she’d begun to understand him, he turned the tables upside down. She hadn’t an idea what went on in his head. Or her own, judging by last night. 

Letting out an exhausted sigh, she took out her behavior book from underneath her mattress, opened it up, and began to write, ignoring the pounding in her head for the time being.


	16. Dismal '47

Upon the start of spring term, Alphard returned to Hogwarts and decided he had to do  _ something _ to fight against Riddle’s takeover that was subtle enough to avoid retaliation or expulsion. He thought of deliberately messing up on his Dark assignment, but failing Defense would only hurt his chances of steady employment, forcing him to rely on his parents’ wealth. 

In addition to that, Alphard didn’t really want to anger Riddle for any reason. Was there nothing at all he could do besides go along with the tide and feign support for the Regime and for the Dark Lord? 

The answer came, oddly enough, only four days into the first week of term. Interactions among students were minimal due to post-holiday blues, exacerbated by the grey skies and heavy workload. With the exemption of Magical Britain’s elite, most wizarding families were struggling with reduced rations and increasing taxes. Galleons were scarce and stress was abundant. 

Something had happened to Mel over the break, but Alphard hadn’t a clue what. He often considered asking her outright but always rejected the idea. He hadn’t any evidence anything had changed; she was the same passive, mellow witch she’d been in 1946. The old bubbly, easily excitable Mel had apparently been shelved for good. 

On the first Thursday of the year, Alphard was on his way to Arithmancy when he was approached by Ignatius Prewett. 

“Oi, Black! Hey, Alphard!” 

Alphard turned reluctantly, for he was barely running on time, and watched the red-haired boy rush over to him. “Can I have a quick word?” Prewett asked, out of breath. 

“I suppose…” 

Prewett directed him down a smaller corridor with less traffic. “Listen, how’s your assignment coming along?” 

“Er, alright,” Alphard answered untruthfully. He’d only practised once outside the Defense lesson that had been devoted to it, and he hadn’t made any improvement. “And you? Which have you got?” 

“Bone-shrinking Curse. The kicker is I’ve no idea if it’s actually working, as I can see only the outside of the mouse. I’ve got dead mice dancing across my eyes at night.” 

Alphard shifted uncomfortably, looking away. He knew Prewett wasn’t enthusiastic about his assignment, either. The pair were alone in that regard. All of the others, including Mel, were only concerned about performing the task sufficiently to Riddle’s high standards. 

“Well, anyway, I’ve got to run,” Prewett said, checking his watch. “Say, er, what are you doing tomorrow night?” 

“Not much,” Alphard replied, not wanting to reveal his rigid NEWT study plan. The question was a bit personal for their level of acquaintance, but he figured the other was just trying to be polite. 

He was wrong. “Well, you see,” Prewett went on, “there’s this little group—well, it’s quite big now...anyway, a few upper-years are in it...would you want to come?” 

“Er...maybe,” said Alphard, taken aback. As Head Boy, it wasn’t wise to engage in non-academic groups, but for some reason, the offer tugged at him. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow night, half-seven. Are you in?” 

After a quick train of thought—he had to deliver the rounds to Dippet, but he’d have to wait for Harper’s since she had detention—no, wait, that was last term. “Yes, I’m in.” 

Prewett nodded in satisfaction. “Swell, mate. It’s in Vector’s classroom. I’ll catch you later.” 

He walked off and Alphard suddenly remembered he was supposed to be in Arithmancy. “Damn,” he muttered, checking his watch. Five minutes late. Without another second to ponder this mysterious group, he dashed off to the fourth floor. 

The next evening, Alphard looked around for Harper, but according to Mel, she  _ still  _ had detention, so his next option was Beatrice Winter. But Beatrice was also in this club-thing, so he brought the rounds reports along. 

He figured there would be maybe a dozen students gathered in the classroom, but there was at least thirty, along with Professor Vector casually reading a book at her desk. He noticed right away that all of the students’ robes were either black, deep blue, or burgundy, except for one green belonging to Eileen Prince. She and Alphard were the only Slytherins. 

This was also noticed by a less-than-pleased Antonia Longbottom. “You know, Ignatius, we’ve got quite a few as it is. I’m not sure we should take any more.”

“Well, I’m sure,” Ignatius said firmly. “In addition to being  _ Head Boy, _ Antonia, Alphard is an ally to our purpose.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” Alphard interjected, sweat forming on his collar, “but what exactly is the purpose?” 

While Antonia shot Prewett a look that said  _ I told you so _ , Beatrice Winter jumped in. “We’re coming up with ways to resist the Regime.” 

Alphard’s head snapped to Professor Vector, but she didn’t appear to be listening. However, she hadn’t turned a page of her book since he’d been present.

He turned to Beatrice. “If they catch us, we’ll be expelled for sure.”

“So I take it you’re in?” Prewett asked with a sly grin.

Alphard shook his head, unwilling to commit yet, but Beatrice spoke up again. “It matters not if I get expelled. Obviously I hope it doesn’t happen, but it is preferable over getting squished under Grindelwald’s thumb.”

“Hear, hear,” said a younger-year Gryffindor by the name of Fleamont Potter. 

Alphard glanced at Ignatius, who nodded along with conviction. It was evident that, as invested in the group as he seemed to be, Ignatius Prewett had omitted some information, like receiving Dark Arts training from the Regime’s most powerful supporter in the castle. He would not be standing next to Antonia Longbottom if she’d known that, for starters. It was as if Riddle had enchanted them into silence. 

But he was here, a willing participant. Then there was Beatrice, who was willing to risk getting kicked out of Hogwarts and losing her promised apprenticeship in The Oracle printing press to defy the Regime. And Eileen Prince, who would forfeit a spot in Brewster’s Apothecary, granted with Slughorn’s connections. 

“Alright, I’m in,” Alphard told them. “On one condition: I wish to invite Mel McCready.” 

To his confusion, Ignatius’ pale eyebrows knitted together as he turned to Antonia. “Isn’t she already in?” 

“She was,” Antonia replied after a brief hesitation, “but then she got caught up with that Double P rubbish and stopped coming.”

“By choice?” Alphard wondered out loud, remembering the abrupt lack of interaction between the two girls. “Or did you two have a row?” 

Antonia cast her light hazel eyes to her feet. “Well, not a row, per se...I just didn’t tell her the change of time.” 

Before anyone could protest, she raised her hands in surrender. “Look, you lot saw how that Double P was turning everyone batty. I didn’t want her to go round spouting off about this group whilst under the influence, alright?” 

“Fair enough,” said Beatrice, but Ignatius was not quite satisfied with that. 

“Double T got caught months ago,” he pointed out. “We’ve had a few meetings since then. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

Antonia let out a sigh. “I don’t trust her, alright? You’ve got to be strong to fight the Regime and she simply...isn’t.”

Alphard opened his mouth to protest, but to his surprise, Ignatius kept going. “How could she not be strong during this war, Antonia? After her brother ran off to join the other side? How is going to lessons everyday whilst her family is under threat not a display of strength?” 

A strong wave of shock and admiration for Ignatius welled up in Alphard’s chest. The Prewetts were as pure-blooded as a few of Magical Britain’s elite, and the boy was willing to defend a half-blood he’d interacted with only a handful of times.

“He’s right,” added a younger-year Hufflepuff with a forlorn expression on his face. “It wasn’t easy being muggle-born even before Grindelwald. We’ll always be the ones on the bottom.” 

A few nodded in agreement, prompting Antonia to relent. “Fine,” she said to Alphard. “She and you are both welcome. You must be willing to sign the parchment binding you to silence.” 

Alphard consented, and just like that, the argument was behind them. Antonia passed him a scroll with a list of names under the words DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY. Mel’s name was already signed, he saw; no wonder she’d never mentioned it. 

He signed his name and gave it back to Antonia. “So now what happens?” 

“Well, I usually teach them hexes we learn in Defense,” Ignatius told him. “But it takes significantly longer to learn the countercurse since, er, you know…”

“Riddle doesn’t teach them,” Antonia supplied in a hushed voice, glancing around the room. Half the group had lost interest in Alphard’s initiation and started chatting amongst themselves, but the other half were listening avidly, including, Alphard suspected, Professor Vector. It was a mark of Riddle’s intimidation on everyone in the castle that outspoken Antonia Longbottom was more reluctant to speak ill of him than the Regime. 

“I say it’s a learning experience we go through together,” Ignatius continued after an awkward pause. “And we’d be greater still if you joined in. You’re the best in Defense after all.”

“I am not,” Alphard protested, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “That’s Murdoch.” 

“Well, what use is his skill if he’s on the wrong side?” Ignatius shot back.

“Ignatius, do remember that he’s Head Boy,” Beatrice spoke up. “We’ve got a bit more time-consuming responsibilities. And don’t get me started on NEWTs approaching.” 

Alphard wanted to help Ignatius, but Beatrice was right. Head Duties were pressing on him heavily and he’d have to increase his study time soon. In addition to that, the professors’ evenings were already beginning to fill up with detentions, which would undoubtedly spill over to him. 

“Alright, if I haven’t got any urgent obligations, I’ll be glad to help,” he said to Ignatius. “It’s might only turn out to be once a month.”

The other stuck out a hand to shake. “That would be swell, mate.” 

They shook hands, sealing the unspoken, subtle transition from schoolmates to friends. 

Antonia, who had engaged in a brief conversation with Florence Bones, turned back to the pair and asked, “So which spell are we working on, then?” 

“Everyone’s struggling a bit with the Tongue-Locking Curse,” Ignatius explained. “So we’ll be doing that.”

They divided into pairs, and for the next half-hour, Alphard went around the room and coached various students on posture, theory, and pronunciation of the incantation. He’d never envisioned himself teaching, only experienced in discipline, but he found that he didn’t mind it. When a small, nervous third-year locked Emmeline Arnold’s tongue, causing her to break out into a triumphant grin, Alphard felt his own spirits lifting. 

“Listen, Ignatius,” he said, catching the boy on the shoulder as the meeting concluded and they left the classroom. “Thanks for inviting me, mate. I’ll try to come along to the next one.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Ignatius replied, pausing before turning to the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower. “Don’t trouble yourself. Also, don’t take Longbottom too literally. Mel is perfectly trustworthy and no one else will mind if you bring her along.” 

“Excellent,” Alphard said, grinning. They parted ways and he headed to the dungeons in a rare good mood. He was looking forward to the next meeting and having real time to spend with Mel. Perhaps he could reconnect with her and bring about the sweet smile she’d given him by the Black Lake the first time they’d spoken candidly to each other. It had been a while since he’d seen it; thus, the image of it in his head was starting to blur. 

~

Tom had gone too far with Messier. He was a complete fool for encouraging her and giving in. 

The night itself had been enjoyable, of course. Since then, he spent a fair bit of downtime with images of her pretty face scrunching up and her eyes filled with a combination of fear and desire. His right hand ached from the extra use as he gripped the quill, grading essays. 

No, it wasn’t the encounter but the incessant  _ thinking _ of her afterward. He didn’t understand what his mind was doing. He was no virgin; there had been that afternoon with Lysandra Bell and a brief encounter with one of the more damaged girls at Wool’s. Girls were good for a fun evening, Tom had determined, and not much else. But unlike Bell and the muggle girl, Messier would not leave his head. 

Worse still, she had the nerve to remain indifferent, going about her way as if she hadn’t rung in the new year on her back for him. Tom’s hand tightened on the quill. He was never touching that fat-cheeked whore again. Her detentions would be passed a different way, one that would leave her crying on her knees. 

When the last essay had been graded, Tom took out a map and laid it on the desk. This was not the map in which he was most interested—he was still waiting on Murdoch for that—but nonetheless useful for future plans. 

Albania wasn’t a large country, but it had much more forest than he’d been expecting. That poor, besotted ghost Helena had given him the general location of the forest but wouldn’t tell him the name. Judging by the map, it would take more than one summer to comb the forests in that area for that hollow tree. 

He pictured the diadem in his mind: silver, pearl-encrusted eagle, large blue gemstone. More important than the thing itself was its purpose, another key to immortality. He had two so far, one in his possession and the other in the ruins of his ancestors’ home. Each of them were valuable in different ways: the diary was his first creation, his sixteen-year-old child of sorts. The ring was worth more than its weight in gold, but the kill was almost as significant as the soul inside. That was the night, one of the fondest in all his life, when he’d extinguished the pathetic, unworthy Riddle line. 

Leaning back, he allowed the memory to rise from the darkest, most latent corner of his mind. No one with enough Legilimency skill around now with Dumbledore gone. 

The eleventh of August 1943: After several grueling hours of peeling the Trace from every particle of his body, Tom had Apparated to a small village called Little Hangleton. Never having Apparated before, he’d missed it by two miles. No matter—he’d been pumped up on enough adrenaline to nearly run there. 

The dirt road had been empty, only the noise of animals and his footsteps filling the air. He’d kept an eye out for any moving figures. This was the test to see if the Trace had been fully removed. No one would want to expel the most brilliant student ever to attend Hogwarts simply for trying to discover his long-lost family. 

His uncle had been a bit of a disappointment, to put it nicely. What had become of the Gaunts was not pleasant. Even Salazar Slytherin’s pure bloodline didn’t seem to be exempt from producing filthy idiots. This particular idiot had helped him, though, by telling him the location of the other just-as-useless contributor to his conception, which was conveniently a manor atop a nearby hill. 

With distaste, Tom recalled the pathetic hope his sixteen-year-old self had that his father would accept him after all that time. What a foolish little boy he’d been. Also no matter—he had shed that while making his second horcrux, his dear uncle’s ring with the Peverell coat of arms. Two horcruxes, twice the guarantee. 

And the following summer, when the air-raids had started up again, Tom was not tense with fear that this was it, he was going to die another nameless orphan, but content with knowing that he’d won. The next battle to win was taking control of this ugly mess of a world and tearing it to the ground. 

With any luck, Horcrux Number Three would strip these ridiculous urges and fancies, taking him one step closer from man to god. 

~ 

_ MINISTER ENCOURAGES YOUNG MARRIAGE  _

_ In a speech delivered on the eleventh of January, our Leader addressed the topic of ways to contribute to strengthening the wizarding world: “Both wizards and witches can contribute to our rise in different ways. Wizards must be strong and fierce, ready to pledge their undying devotion to wizard-kind. They must take a proper witch for a wife and create the next pure magical generation as soon as possible! Witches are just as important. They provide the support for our great wizards and proudly birth the youth of our bright future!”  _

_ Young wizards are expected, says the Minister, to pledge their loyalty to our Leader above all in a formal ceremony at the Ministry by their seventeenth birthday. Parents shall place their children in summer camps for further magical training outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For the full proclamation issued by the Ministry of Magic, please see page 2.  _

_ 9 January 1947 _

_ As of the first of February 1947, all wizards and witches of the UK and surrounding magical areas are expected to adhere to the following: _

_ -All wizards must pledge their loyalty to our Leader Gellert Grindelwald and the Greater Magical Society in a formal ceremony by their seventeenth birthday. Those over seventeen must pledge by the first of September 1947.  _

_ -Attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is MANDATORY for all magical children aged 11-17. Parents are required to send their children to the Superior Magical Youth (SMY) from the first to the fifteenth of August every summer. Boys aged 9-17 will receive training in discipline and magical combat. Girls aged 13-17 will be taught skills to become proper, loving wives and mothers, ready to meet their husbands’ every need.  _

_ -Marriage recognised by the Ministry of Magic as a union between wizard and witch with the intention of continuing magical bloodlines as soon as possible is STRONGLY ENCOURAGED. Any marriage which does not produce an heir within the first three years will be considered null and void by the Ministry of Magic.  _

_ “With these new decrees, we will not only ensure the survival of wizard-kind, we will accelerate our rise to the top of the hierarchy,” our Leader said to much enthusiasm and cheer in a London conference. “We are ensuring an excellent future for ourselves and magical generations to come!”  _

_ Anyone found not in compliance with the above decrees will be considered disloyal to the Greater Magical Society and punished accordingly.  _

Mel rolled up The Oracle, slipped it in her bag, and promptly left the Great Hall without looking at anyone. She was not going to think of Grindelwald’s proclamation, nor Walden, nor anything else going on outside Hogwarts just yet. This resolve stemmed from her own fragility and helplessness in controlling anything going on around her. The only thing she seemed to have control over was herself, and her will. 

And her magic, which she could feel was growing stronger. The mouse writhed under her wand now, and it was surprising how quickly she detached herself from it. As she clomped down to the dungeons, Mel visualised the proper wand angle, almost harder to get right than the intent. 

Outside of the Defense lesson every fortnight dedicated to practising, Riddle announced last lesson that he would be opening the classroom for his NEWT students on Wednesdays from one to two for additional practice. She, Prewett, Murdoch, and Yaxley all had free periods during that time, but Alphard and Harper had Alchemy. Harper had told Mel that sometimes she could convince Riddle to teach her during her everlasting detentions, but Alphard never said a word about his task. 

Riddle appeared to be shut in his office, so Mel went ahead and entered one of the quiet makeshift rooms, where a mouse in a cage was waiting for her. A slight pang tightened her chest; she did feel quite bad for the animal, limiting the attempts of the curse to only a few minutes with very frequent breaks. However, success required shutting off pity quicker than a tap. 

She lifted her arm high in the air, turned her wrist, and pointed her wand down at the mouse.  _ “Crucio!”  _

For the first few times, the curse took a minute or two to build, only causing slight discomfort. As the hour passed, the phase shortened to half a minute, then a quarter, then only a few seconds. Filling with triumph, she tucked her wand away and checked her watch. Fifteen minutes to go until two o’clock, but she decided for the mouse’s sake to conclude early, confident with the rate she was progressing. Since she wasn’t a Slytherin, Riddle’s praise was elusive, but she hoped to earn it nonetheless. 

Spotting a tall, dark-haired figure in Slytherin robes on the way to the greenhouses, she called, “Hey, Harper!” 

The girl turned, an irate expression melting off her face as Mel approached her in a slight jog. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh, yes,” Harper sighed, rolling her eyes. “I just hate Alchemy is all.” 

“Too late to drop it, then?” Mel suggested. 

“No, I can’t. I need the class for Heal—” 

“Ladies,” Beatrice Winter interrupted briskly, appearing out of nowhere. “I must inform you of a prefect meeting after this, as we’ve got a guest from the Ministry coming to speak to us after supper.” 

“What on Earth about?” Mel asked before swallowing hard. 

“Hell if I know,” Beatrice replied with a note of aggravation in her voice. “What I do know is that this bloke is cutting into my study time.” 

Further exacerbating her and the other seventh-years’ stress was another list of plant species they “may or may not be” asked about on the NEWT. They had quite a few choice words for Professor Groot after the lesson as they marched back to the castle through the slush-covered grounds. 

“Gather round,” Alphard commanded the prefects once they were all in the meeting room. “We’ve got to collect everyone in the common rooms and tell them to be on their best behavior.” 

This turned out to be a difficult task, but after much frustration and delay, Beatrice, with the help of Mel and Henry Higgins, managed to get all the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall looking their best. The Slytherins were their usual selves, sitting at their table with an air of cold indifference, while many Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs exchanged uneasy glances. 

“Students of Hogwarts,” said Dippet from his high-backed chair, forgoing a trip to the podium. “Please welcome Senior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic, Praxidike Warner.” 

As various levels of clapping filled the air, the sound of high heels clicking against marble sliced through it. A tall, slim witch with deep red lips, arched dark eyebrows, and elaborately-curled red hair approached the podium. At the sight of her, at least three-quarters of the upper-year boys suddenly sat straight with poorly-disguised interest. 

“Good evening,” she said warmly in contrast to her appearance, surveying the room. “I am honored to be here. Our Leader is very impressed with you all after his visit, and it is clear to see why. Your behavior is impeccable. Such discipline!” The corner of her lips curled up as she gave an undoubtedly well-practised nod of satisfaction.

“You are all at such pivotal points in your young lives. This is when childhood whimsy is left behind, replaced with pride and honor for yourselves and your community. Our Leader has made his expectations of you quite plain with the new decrees, but we believe you may need a bit of transition.” 

It was doubtful that anyone fully understood Miss Warner’s words—Mel sure didn’t—but that didn’t seem to be an issue, especially for the boys. Across the table, Henry Higgins had his glazed blue eyes on the pretty witch, looking like a large dose of Double P had gone straight to his brain. 

Miss Warner daintily cleared her throat, scrunching up her button nose for a moment. Mel was annoyed; had Grindelwald’s puppet come simply to get the blokes hopped up, or did she have an actual point? Mel wondered what Miss Warner’s advancement to her position had required her to do for her dear Leader. Probably a service on her knees, she thought with a burst of savagery. 

“This is why, with funding from the Ministry, Hogwarts will be hosting a ball for the hardworking, maturing sixth and seventh-years on the twenty-fourth of next month. The Winter Ball will encourage unions between wizards and witches as a gentle segue into courtship and marriage.” 

The female faces of the student body, which had been glaring at Miss Warner with a mix of envy and contempt, nearly broke out in excited grins. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Henry grumbled as a few of the sixth-year girls exchanged fervent glances. 

“Headmaster, please arrange a time to practise proper dancing,” she suggested, turning a winning smile to her right. 

Dippet, gazing off somewhere, didn’t seem to hear her, so Slughorn spoke up from beside him. “Will do, Miss Warner.” 

He offered with enthusiasm to escort her to the Apparition Point, but eventually, for reasons unknown, she left with Professor Verdanyan. Once the double doors closed behind them, the Great Hall immediately filled with chatter. 

“Who do you hope will ask you?” Emmeline Arnold asked Beatrice Winter. 

“I dunno…”

“Perhaps I’ll get Ignatius Prewett,” said another in hushed tones. “He’s turning out to be quite the looker…” 

Mel was avoiding the eye of Henry Higgins, who had snapped out of his trance of lust, now facing her full-on. Pretending to pick lint off her robes, she took a burning swallow as she imagined Alphard arm-in-arm with another witch. Perhaps he’d take Harper by default, but no doubt she’d be asked by someone else. Aside from Murdoch and Yaxley’s stupid competition, Clovis Grisham was also interested. 

Mel turned to look at her best friend, seated next to Eileen Prince. The pair stared avidly at their plates as if their meatloafs were about to start dancing. Some of the witches were eating hurriedly, while others were idly picking at their food, twirling their hair and looking around expectantly. 

Though Praxidike Warner had insinuated that the ball was mandatory, Mel decided that she’d skive off. No use dredging up the issue with Alphard if she could avoid it altogether. Yes, I’ll do that, she thought as she left to get a head start on her Transfiguration essay. It wasn’t as if  _ Hogwarts _ was going to make the ball mandatory anyway. 

That assumption turned out to be wrong. A few days later, after the Defense lesson, Riddle informed Mel and Harper that they were both required in the Headmaster’s office. Mel wanted to ask what for, but Harper simply nodded and tugged on her sleeve. 

“What do you reckon?” Mel asked her worriedly once they were out in the corridor. “We can’t be in trouble, surely?” 

“Honestly, I’ve no idea,” Harper replied, looking a bit disconcerted herself. “These days, few things would surprise me.” 

Mel couldn’t argue that, so the pair fell silent as they headed to the seventh floor. She’d never been to the headmaster’s office, never having so much as a detention, but Harper apparently had, for she stopped in front of a large stone gargoyle.

“This is the entrance but I’ve no idea what the password is,” she said, tapping her chin. “Last time I simply told it my name, so let’s start with that.” 

Just as she turned toward it, Mel heard a voice call her name. Beatrice Winter was approaching, flanked by Antonia Longbottom and Emmeline Arnold. “Have the pair of you been summoned by the headmaster as well?”

This was getting more and more bizarre. All Beatrice had to do was declare her presence for the gargoyle to move. “One of the advantages of being Head Girl,” she explained, leading them up a moving spiral staircase.

Mel could feel her heart beating faintly in her throat, but being in a group helped ease her nerves. They couldn’t all be in that much trouble, especially not Beatrice. 

The headmaster’s office was as grand as Mel would expect, albeit a bit bare. Aside from the large oak desk and dozens of portraits on the circular walls, there was not much else. Dippet was seated at his desk, next to which was a large, midnight blue armchair, occupied by a smiling Professor Verdanyan. 

Six chairs were lined up in front of them, the farthest one occupied by Florence Bones, mirroring the other girls’ bewildered expressions. Harper took the chair next to her, Mel followed, and all of the witches were seated within ten seconds. Mel could tell that Antonia, Emmeline, and Florence had never been there before, for they were looking around in curiosity, while Beatrice sat resolutely straight, staring ahead. Next to Mel, Harper placed a palm to her bouncing leg to still it. 

“Good afternoon,” said Verdanyan serenely. “I can see you’re a bit nervous, so rest assured that none of you are in trouble. I’ve spoken with Miss Warner and she is concerned about the number of seventh-year girls not only still attending Hogwarts but with no plans of marriage. She recommends we ensure you attend the Winter Ball with a wizard and has provided a few guidelines for you to follow. Headmaster, has she sent them over?” 

“She has,” Dippet answered, passing her a stack of crisp white sheets. Verdanyan handed them to Eileen, who took one and sent the rest down the line. As soon as Mel got one, she read the words in stark black print: 

_ Five Tips for Catching a Wizard’s Eye:  _

_ 1: Smile! There is nothing a wizard likes more than a happy and agreeable witch. Smiling is the fastest way of enhancing facial attractiveness and showing warmth.  _

_ 2: Always look your best. This includes keeping up with the latest hair and dress styles, using cosmetics, wearing polished shoes, and of course, maintaining good posture. Plainness or beauty matters little when a witch takes proper care of herself. There is a wizard for every valuable witch.  _

_ 3: Present yourself with the utmost grace and femininity. Mind your manners at all times. In the presence of wizards, simply smile and speak as little as possible. Ensure that all of their needs are met. Some examples of this are: offering them tea or something to eat, hanging up their robes, and keeping their lounging areas neat and tidy.  _

_ 4: Complement masculinity. This coincides with Tip No. 3. Leave the brashness, outspokenness, and excitability to the boys. A calm, nurturing witch will have no trouble finding a wizard who will appreciate her.  _

_ 5: Last and not least, confidence is key! You are all beautiful and wonderful assets to our improving community. Follow these guidelines in addition to our Leader’s decrees, and you will find yourself a loving husband in no time at all.  _

“Pardon me, but I’ve got a question,” Antonia blurted to no one in particular. “What if we don’t wish to marry just yet?” 

The silence that filled the next moment was deafening. Dippet looked a bit rankled, but Verdanyan’s smile didn’t slip. “Take it one step at a time, dear,” she suggested. “First find a date to the Winter Ball to acquaint yourself with a wizard. Perhaps he’ll turn out to be your husband—that’s not uncommon at all.” 

“What if we’re not planning on attending the ball?” Florence asked. Mel was grateful she did, because she had the very same question but was too shy to voice it. 

Dippet and Verdanyan exchanged glances before the latter spoke, carefully choosing her words. “Well…we  _ strongly encourage _ you to attend. It’s the easiest way to ensure you’ll follow the...decree.” Her nose wrinkled involuntarily, but after a blink, she was again calm-faced. 

“But, Professor, what if we’re not yet  _ interested _ in wizards?”

Dippet looked like he swallowed a galleon, but Verdanyan simply turned toward Antonia with polite interest. “Have you any other plans, dear?” 

“I do, madam,” Antonia declared. “I’d like to enter the Department of Mysteries.” 

Mel sucked in a breath. Longbottom was about to start mouthing off and get them all into trouble, but then Harper spoke up. “I plan on going to Healer Training.”

Without waiting for a response, she looked at Florence. “And you to Medical Records, yes?” 

“Indeed,” said Florence, startled. She gazed at Harper, clearly surprised that anyone had listened. The girl was often dismissed as too flighty by the other seventh-years. 

Harper, in a calm, reserved tone, addressed Dippet and Verdanyan. “Professors, please believe that we don’t wish to cause trouble. We can easily be of use to the Regime without wizards. We’ve spent seven years building our magical skills.” 

“Yes, not to mention, none of them want us anyway,” Beatrice spoke up with a barely perceptible bite. 

“Now, ladies,” Verdanyan interjected in a rush. “You’re all perfectly attractive—” 

“They’re not exactly ripe for the picking, either,” Antonia muttered, and Beatrice stifled a giggle. 

“Alright, ladies,” Dippet said with unusual sharpness. “Your presence at the Winter Ball is mandatory. As far as what you plan on doing upon leaving the castle is out of my hands. You are dismissed.”

Mel thought Antonia and the others would be angry at the headmaster’s mandate, but they exchanged looks of mild triumph before filing out of the office. Once they were in the main corridor, Beatrice turned to Harper. “Your words were utterly brilliant. They looked like bucking bowtruckles trying to form a rebuttal.” 

Harper chuckled and cast her eyes to her feet. Antonia, who had only ever shown contempt toward the Slytherin girl due to her father’s harsh outspokenness, was nodding in agreement. “You sure smoked them.” 

“We should form an alliance,” Beatrice suggested, a grin stretching across her freckled cheeks. “The Anti-Marriage League.” 

“Who needs wizards anyway?” asked Florence, also letting slip a wide grin. 

“That Warner can take those tips and shove them right up her arse,” Antonia added, causing the girls to erupt in laughter. Students passing by gave them funny looks, but still they cackled and carried on all the way to the Great Hall. Although Mel hadn’t actively participated, she felt a part of the group nonetheless, basking in the glow of unexpected, however-fleeting solidarity. 

Over the next week she noticed that, while Antonia returned to her swotty self, Harper had decided to touch down on Earth for a bit. She passed Mel’s eighteenth birthday with her on Wednesday. Conversations started up again during Defense and Potions, and by Friday, it was starting to feel like ‘45 again, with the addition of the ridiculous Regime. However, Hogwarts made it easy to forget the world outside its walls, especially for seventh-years with NEWTs approaching. 

That evening at eight o’clock, all the upper-years were required to be in the Great Hall for their first formal dance lesson. Mel was rather nervous about this, since she’d never had proper lessons. 

“Don’t stress, dear,” Harper said in greeting as they joined up with the other prefects in the main corridor. “Just follow my every move. Under ten years of Madam Malkova’s rigid instruction, I must have somewhat of an idea.”

Mel grinned at her, relieved. Unfortunately, Professor Vector, who was the coordinator of the event and seemed less than enthusiastic about it, had other ideas. 

“We have arranged your pairings at random beforehand,” she announced to the restless group of students once they were spread across the Great Hall. A long scroll was held up to her eye level. “There is  _ no negotiation _ for switching partners. The first pair is Prewett and Bones.” 

Both slightly pink-cheeked, Florence Bones and Ignatius Prewett sought each other out and began to close the distance between them. 

“Higgins and Rifkin.” 

“Who do you hope to get?” Mel whispered to Harper. 

“Anyone besides Grisham or Yaxley,” the other replied before a deep inhale. 

“I’d rather be paired with the thestrals next to Kettleburn’s hut,” Mel agreed, causing the two girls to suppress giggles. Those died from Mel’s throat at once when Vector called, “Black and Winter.” 

Beatrice appeared to be holding back a grin while Alphard sent an apologetic look to Mel. She kept her eyes still and inspected her nails. “If that wasn’t intentional, I’ll eat my hat,” she grumbled to herself. 

Harper, too, was giving her a sympathetic gance. Just as she reached for Mel’s hand, the dreaded words left the professor’s mouth: “Yaxley and Messier.”

Not bothering to hide her displeasure, Harper’s face morphed into a pout as she stomped toward a triumphant Yaxley. 

“Rosier and McCready.” 

Of course a Slytherin, but ultimately, it could have been worse. To his credit, Rosier crossed the Hall to her so she didn’t have to move closer to the Slytherins. 

When they were in formation, sweaty hands clasped together or rested awkwardly on female hips and male shoulders, a record began to play. Professors Vector and Kettleburn, looking no more comfortable together than the students, demonstrated the proper steps. 

Mel grasped Rosier’s hand like it tethered her to life and tried to follow along. Rosier, no doubt having had lessons in his earlier youth, was much more adept, but he didn’t seem to mind Mel’s clumsiness. However, he was sure to keep a more-than-generous distance between them as if she’d just gotten over something contagious and might still have remnants of it in her system. Muggle blood, she supposed with bitterness, since his group considered that on par with a virus. 

She glanced at Alphard, but his head was turned the other way, his feet moving mechanically in rhythm with Beatrice’s. Nearby, Yaxley was holding Harper awfully close to his chest, his nose buried in the curl of hair pinned atop her head, while she kept her eyes trained on the floor. All of the sudden, the pair stumbled and clutched at each other as they landed on their rears. Laughter was starting to break out when Alphard and Beatrice both lost their balance a second later. To Mel’s complete astonishment, couples across the Great Hall were collapsing, loud yelps and bewildered shouts filling the air. 

She broke away from Rosier to get a better look. As she took a step back, the heel of her shoe landed on something small, hard, and spherical. It shot out from under her foot as she went down, her side crashing painfully to the floor. “What the—?” 

From her enhanced view on the floor, Mel could now identify the source of the chaos: marbles, thousands of them zooming around the students’ feet. 

“What the hell are you lot doing?” yelled Vector upon realising three-quarters of them were crawling on the floor. 

“Someone’s let out a sack of marbles, Professor!” Antonia Longbottom bawled, loping away from Leonard Dunham, pulling her robes out of his grasp. Mel jumped to her feet as Rosier disappeared into the bumbling crowd. 

“Guess you could say he’s lost his marbles,” someone on the left side of the room cracked, bringing forth a tide of laughter. 

A familiar giggle filled Mel’s ear. She turned and found herself face-to-face with a beaming Harper. “Murdoch’s dropped the sack,” she whispered excitedly, pointing to a figure curled up in a ball on the floor like a turtle, shaking with laughter, Alphard towering over him with an rare expression of fury. He prodded Murdoch’s shoulder and Murdoch finally rose, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his side and roared with glee. 

“Real bloody mature, Murdoch,” Vector spat as she summoned all of the marbles into her hat. They flew past bodies, pelting a shoulder or skull here and there, altering their path. “Black, please take him straight to Professor Riddle.” 

“I have no regret,” Murdoch announced in true Murdoch fashion as Alphard led him through the double doors. “It was worth it!” 

Faced with the task of gathering everyone up again and calming them down, the professors exchanged exacerbated glances. The record played on ignored, so Harper seized Mel’s hands and took the opportunity to teach her how to dance, since Rosier was nowhere to be found. 

“Center, that’s it, now back, quick right, back again…” It was hopeless; Mel kept tripping over Harper’s feet. When one fell victim to a stray marble, she decided she’d had enough, dissolving into gales of laughter with Harper instead. 

“Ah, I’m dreadful,” she wheezed, clutching her best friend’s shoulders. Harper had to catch her breath before she could form a reply. 

“Don’t stress, dear. Anyone will be happy you’ve accepted their invitation.” 

“Says the girl who’s got three blokes on the go,” Mel shot back, knowing Harper was only trying to lift her spirits but feeling flattered all the same. 

The other witch’s cheeks tinged pink as she looked away, a small grin playing on her lips. “Please, they only like the family name and the good marks. It’s not me they fancy.” 

“Well, I beg to differ,” said Mel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Icarus Yaxley weaving through the bunch, intent on reaching Harper. “Speaking of fancy, here comes Yaxley.” 

“Oh, Merlin.” Harper glanced around, looking stricken. “Hide me.”

“Oi, Messier, what are you—augh!” 

As if on cue, Antonia Longbottom twirled right into him, unwittingly smacking him in the face with an outstretched arm. “Golly, sorry about that,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest but rather pleased. 

“Watch where you’re going, you bumbling pig,” Yaxley snarled, shoving her away. She tripped and nearly fell flat on her face.

“You sodding—” 

“Yaxley and Longbottom!” Vector barked. “Are you fighting or dancing? Are  _ any _ of you dancing?” She glared around the Great Hall, but indeed no one was neither dancing nor paying her any attention. “Silvanus, turn the record off. This is obviously a pointless endeavor. They can all roll around like the imbeciles they’re behaving like at the ball.” 

Taking that as a dismissal, Harper snatched Mel’s arm and pulled her toward the double doors. “Come, let’s get out of here before…” The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the sudden chatter full of relief. 

“Where are we going?” Mel asked once they entered the main corridor and pulled away from the herd. 

“I dunno, to the library? Hell, anywhere away from Yaxley’s fine with me.” 

Mel opened her mouth to ask if Yaxley overstepped any boundaries, suspecting the answer was yes, but just then, someone tugged her shoulder. 

“Mel, can I have a word?” Alphard asked as she turned around. 

She glanced at Harper. “Well, she and I—”

“No, go on,” Harper prompted, her expression morphing from one of mild irritation to sly amusement. “Don’t let me hold you. I’ll be in the library.”

With a wink, she departed, leaving Mel and Alphard alone, shifting awkwardly. Though Mel still loved him—a part of her always would—exchanges did not come easily anymore. Too much had changed, both within her and out. 

“Do you remember last year when Antonia Longbottom invited you to a meeting in Professor Vector’s classroom?” 

“Yes…” she replied slowly. 

“Well, I’ve been invited by Ignatius, and they want you to come to the next one. It’s on the—” 

“Who’s ‘they’?” Mel interrupted, trying to keep the disdain out of her voice. “Not Longbottom, surely? Considering she’s made it quite clear that I’m no longer welcome.” 

“Well, now she’s—”

“Save it, Alphard.” Mel was quite rankled at Alphard for joining up with those hypocrites who pretended to be “good” and “light,” but her voice only revealed signs of exhaustion. “You don’t know the feeling, do you? Too wrong for the pure of heart, too tainted for the elite. It’s not awful, you know, belonging nowhere. Easier to rely on yourself, and less disappointment.” 

“Mel…” It was clear he hadn’t an idea what to say to that. She smiled and patted his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, really.” As she turned her back on him and made her way down the corridor, heading to the library, she felt his eyes on her, undoubtedly wondering what had gotten into her. 

The following day was a Friday, which meant the Defense classroom was open for practice. Mel strode briskly in her usual room, closed the door, and turned her wand on the mouse, which recognised her at once and scrambled to the back of the cage. 

_ “Crucio!”  _

Squeaks of agony filled the air. Tightening her wand and narrowing her eyes in concentration, Mel gazed at the writhing creature rolling around like a ball, rattling the metal bars of the cage. As soon as she saw the black beady eyes bulge out of its small head, she lifted the curse, breathing heavy and blinking back tiny blazing spirals from her vision. 

She rubbed her aching arm; the curse took a bit of her physical strength, leaving her weak and dizzy. Letting out a deep sigh, she turned around and jumped back upon seeing Riddle standing in the doorway, watching her. He must have slipped in while she was casting. 

“Well done, Miss McCready,” he said pleasantly, giving her a small but genuine smile before disappearing. 

A mix of gratitude and triumph flooded her chest as she stared at the spot he’d been, holding back a silly, girlish smile. The mouse lay limply next to the plate of cheese cubes, alive but in deep recovery. 

Those were the first words of praise she’d ever gotten from Riddle, and it was surprising how much they’d touched her. He assigned her the Cruciatus Curse, she realised, not because she harbored such intense anger, but because he trusted in her ability to control and release it. 

Was this what Walden was after in his quest for something better? Mel would never understand how her brother considered the Regime better, but she did understand the fear of slipping under, the anger at the world, the high of unbridled power. 


	17. Lessons of a Different Sort

There was nothing Tom wished for more than to lunge across the desk and throttle the boy sitting in the wooden chair. Instead he clenched his fists in his lap out of sight and asked calmly, “What on Earth made you do it, Felix?” 

“I’m terribly sorry, sir!” Murdoch burst out, wide eyes pleading for forgiveness. “We seventh-years are under a bit of stress, you see, with NEWTs and all. The castle has this grim air about it, so I thought perhaps I’d lighten the mood a bit—” 

“You do realise, Felix,” Tom cut him off coolly, “that dropping hundreds of marbles during a formal dance rehearsal was a  _ ridiculous _ and  _ moronic _ idea? You are eighteen years old, for Merlin’s sake, _ act  _ like it. This rubbish is unacceptable, is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” the idiot mumbled, lowering his eyes to his feet. 

Tom enjoyed watching the cockiness deflate out of him until he was just a sack of chagrined remorse. As annoyed as he was at the boy’s behavior, he couldn’t be too upset at the prospect of puncturing his ego. “Good. Your detention will be next Saturday the twenty-fourth at eight o’clock.”

“But sir,” Murdoch protested unwisely. “That’s the night of the ball! If I don’t go with a witch, I might lose my chance at finding a suitable bride within our Leader’s timeframe.”

Tom opened his mouth to snarl that no witch would consider him even if Grindelwald gave him three decades, but then he thought of Messier. What did she see in this imbecile, anyway? Then a better idea came along. 

“Tell you what,” he said, switching his tone to pleasant. “Your detention will take place that Friday night instead.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Murdoch, startled. 

“You’re welcome. But Felix, this is your  _ last _ warning. No more causing trouble in this castle or you will face consequences much more dire than missing the ball, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Swell. Now please get out of my sight. One of your fellow classmates is due to start detention in ten minutes.” 

He could almost hear the cogs turning in Murdoch’s head as the boy stood and left the office, trying to work out which of his classmates. He’d figure it out eventually, simultaneously learning that he wouldn’t be able to take the witch he had in mind to the stupid ball. 

Tom turned toward the empty fireplace, reflecting on the past few days. Many instances of aggravation and chaos, but also a few of triumph. An example was his seventh-year students who, despite their varied personality defects, seemed to be improving on their assignments nicely. He imagined himself as a father—not that he had any example of that—proud of his children. Except these were more like minions, taking on the tools to advance wizarding society—or destroy it. Time would clarify which, but either would be under his command.

A soft knock on the door caused him to straighten up and turn back to his desk. “Enter.” 

As expected, Harper Messier walked in the office and shut the door behind her. “Good evening, Professor,” she mumbled to the floor. 

_ Not so indifferent now, are you? _ He wanted to ask, but there were better ways to taunt her. “Good evening. You can go ahead and tuck your wand away, as I’ve got nothing for you to copy. Tonight, you will be strengthening your Occlumency in a different way, since the other way was...not suitable.”

To his delight, she looked slightly put out but quickly got over it. “What shall I do, sir?” 

Tom stood and pulled out his wand. “Step back about three feet and stand still.”

Eyeing him warily now, the girl moved back. 

“I’m going to openly break into your mind, and you are going to push me out,” he explained, raising his wand. “Are you ready?” 

Her teeth grazed her bottom lip, but she stopped herself from biting it. “Yes, sir.” 

_ “Legilimens!”  _

The barrier held up decently, already taking on a web-like structure, but of course it was no match for his skill. He snapped it open and flicked through memories like record cases in a drawer. There was the Messier house down the street from the Blacks,’ freshly painted white, a chubby girl skipping on the pavement, sneaking into a library, sitting in a bright dining hall, on the edge of a pink-covered bed, swiping tear-soaked chipmunk cheeks…

Tom held onto this one, sinking into the bombardment of prior memories. Back to the dining hall, where the Messiers sat at an oak table, parents on one side, daughters on the other. On their plates were the remains of some type of chocolate cake. The girl on the right went for a slice, but Charles Messier reached over and slapped her hand away. 

“You’ve had one already,” he snapped as his daughter flushed and brought her plate back. “Keep up your eating habits and you’ll be a cow by seventeen.”

“Charles,” his wife admonished half-heartedly. 

“Don’t start with me, Euporie. You know damn well you’re overfeeding her. Half this city’s got not much to eat whilst Harpalyke stuffs her face like a fat little pig.” 

The slimmer girl, presumably Messier One, snorted in derision while Messier Two kept her eyes stubbornly on her plate. Her face was completely blank, but Tom could tell she was training it still. 

“Well, well, well,” he said sardonically, pulling out of her mind. “Trouble in paradise, is there? Poor dear not living up to expectations?”

He let a grin cross his face, watching those pretty dark eyes narrow, her mouth twisted in fury. “Touched a nerve, have I?” he goaded. “Pity.  _ Legilimens!”  _

More flashing, more scenes depicting the chubby young girl fighting with her sister, walking around London, stiff piano lessons with some old bat who swatted the back of the girls’ heads when they hit a wrong key… 

The web was re-forming, slowing everything down and filling the air with static. He could have persisted, but he withdrew instead, waiting until he relaxed it before diving right back in again, tearing the web apart. 

Sunlight glinted on a glossy sheet of paper in a still, immaculate bedroom. The girl, creeping in on all fours, extended a cautious hand to pick up the magazine on the bed. The picture on the cover was blurred but the title read  _ Naughty Witches _ ...

The scene abruptly switched to a familiar parlor: the Lestranges.’ Tom had been there a few times, but this must have been before he established himself at Hogwarts, judging by Lestrange and the others’ young ages, third-years if that. The group of twitchy snots were leering at the young Harper sitting on the floor, yanking her skirt over her knees. Lestrange pointed his wand at her and the skirt tore itself out of her clenched fists and covered her face, leaving her knickers and plump white thighs on display. 

There came a shout of  _ “No!”  _ as the web laced itself across his eyes, bouncing him back to the classroom. 

“Don’t want me to see the rest?” Tom was clutching his wand tightly now, enjoying every micron of anger directed at him. “Then _ block _ me, Harper.  _ Legilimens!”  _

She did block him eventually, only after he’d seen a few more latent, questionable memories and she collapsed to her knees, spent. 

“Well doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun,” he remarked, checking his watch. Her detention should have been over ten minutes ago. Holding out a hand, he watched her collect herself, still fighting rage and shame. When she took his hand and rose to her feet, he fought the urge to pull her into his chamber. As much as he wanted to back her up against the wall and lift her skirt himself, keeping full control was more important. 

“We will resume next week. Goodnight, Miss Messier.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” she mumbled to her shoes as she turned away. 

“Oh, and by the way,” he added just as her hand closed around the doorknob. “Your detention will be held on Saturday next week instead of Friday. I hope you were not planning on attending the ball.”

Instead of further dejection like he was expecting, a glimmer of triumph passed over Harper’s face. “I wasn’t, sir,” she said almost cheerfully before leaving with a slight bounce to her step. 

Witches are so silly, Tom thought irritably, locking his office door and sitting at his desk. Pouring a glass of firewhiskey, he nodded briefly to himself. At least he’d gotten her out of the ball, preventing her from distracting Murdoch and Yaxley, the two fools barely passing as Knights.

~

Life was considerably easier, Mel had determined, when reliance on other people was diminished. Harper’s bouts of absences and Longbottom’s continued, subtle disdain weren’t such a bother. For what was the need of others when she had magic that could be harnessed and consciously directed? The bond between wizard and magic was less fickle.

As long as she kept that in mind, she’d be fine. More than fine— _ skilled. _ Mel had never given her magical ability much thought, considering herself more or less average with a skew toward abysmal in Defense. Now that had all changed, with a side effect of her focus shifting away from Alphard. This became apparent when he approached her a week before the Winter Ball. 

“Hello, ladies,” he said, catching Mel and Harper on their way out of Transfiguration. 

“Hello, Alphard,” they chorused back. 

“Mel...can I have a word?” 

By default, Mel looked at Harper, who started to branch off in the direction of the library. “Sure,” Mel answered slowly. 

Alphard led her to a small corridor used as a shortcut to the Astronomy Tower. She was hoping they weren’t about to embark on a long conversation. It was difficult to keep up impassivity when he was right in front of her face. 

“So, erm, about the ball…”

“I’m not going,” she informed him matter-of-factly. 

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re not? I could’ve sworn I heard Beatrice say it was required.”

Mel shrugged; she didn’t care if it was required. The Regime was a burden on her shoulders, no doubt. She would not be participating in any uprising, but skiving off the ball was her own small victory over it. What would Dippet do, expel her at this point in her education? Most likely no one in authority would even notice her absence. 

Rather than tell Alphard that, she lied, “I’ve got to study and work on my Defense assignment. Haven’t got it down quite yet, see.” 

“That’s probably a good thing,” Alphard muttered darkly, his face falling into a glum expression. 

“Perhaps we could study together,” she offered. “If you’re not planning to attend, either.”

“As Head Boy, I haven’t got a choice.” Then adding quickly, “I’m not going with a witch, though.” 

She smiled and clasped his hand, an idea springing to her mind. “Have you got a lesson this hour?” 

He shook his head. “I’ve got to deliver the reports to Dippet, but it’s not urgent.” His dark eyes locked with hers. “Have you got an idea?” 

A grin crossed her face. Her mind was telling her that her idea was not a good one, but it fell on deaf ears. She pulled Alphard up to the third floor. Just before they stepped foot in the Astronomy Tower, Mel veered right, leading him to an empty corridor with a circular opening in the ceiling. She froze, pressing her palm against his chest. A ladder appeared and extended to the floor, a burst of soft sunlight encircling the pair. 

Alphard was bewildered, that much was clear. His mouth opened slightly as he peered up. Only the wooden ceiling was visible from their angle. 

“Come,” Mel prompted before climbing the ladder. Her smile tightened into a smirk as she imagined the boy behind her looking up her skirt. 

The attic was flooded with light through the large window in the high, slanted ceiling. It had been a classroom once: dusty tables and cushions sat in neat formation. Mel had stumbled upon the attic about two hours after learning of Walden’s departure. The room had both calmed her and contained her sighs and sniffles within its walls. 

“Come,” she repeated, still holding Alphard’s hand. They sat on a pair of cushions next to each other, facing the chalkboard, which displayed faded words:  _ Tea leaves: Grimm signifies danger and often death. _ Oddly, Mel liked the ominous words juxtaposed with the warm sunlight. 

“I’m really sorry I had to turn down your invitation to the ball, and to Antonia’s club. You must understand that it’s nothing personal against you.” 

“I understand,” he said softly. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw him turn toward her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. 

“Things would be different,” she said, dragging out the words, “if Dumbledore had won. Not just in Magical Britain, but between us.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” he insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re a half-blood, Mel, not a muggle.”

They are synonymous, she wanted to protest, but she didn’t bring him here to debate the future. Facing him head-on, she gave him a smile, reveling in the glimmer of adoration in his eyes at the sight of her. Reaching over to run her hands through his thick hair, she leaned in and met his lips. 

From there, a whirlwind of heated skin, soft lips, and heavy breaths overtook her senses. Grabbing a cushion, she slid it underneath her head as she lie back, pulling him down with her. Her legs were wrapping around his waist, their lips locked together in passion. Against the sensitive skin under her knickers, she could feel him stiffening through his trousers. 

She ran her hands down his torso before lifting her skirt. “Come on, darling,” she urged in his ear. “Don’t hold back.”

“Mel—” 

Her lips silenced the rest from tumbling out of his mouth, while her hands found his belt buckle.

“Mel…” 

It was more reluctant, his body winning out over his mind, egged on by her eager kisses. “It’s alright, Alphard,” she assured him. “I’m ready to give you all of me.”

Looking slightly uneasy, Alphard leaned over her and kissed her again. Eventually, he let loose enough to go forward. 

Mel had fantasised about losing her virginity many times over, but she’d never factored in the pain. Instead of blooming bliss, the majority of the encounter was spent clenching her teeth, tolerating discomfort. The last ten seconds balanced it out, however. 

Once they finished, Alphard sat straight and pulled her on his lap. She allowed her head a brief rest before pulling away. Cuddling was dangerous. The deed was done, time to go. 

“See you later, Alphard,” she told him, briskly advancing toward the ladder, smoothing down her hair and robes. Before he could respond, she’d already descended and walked away, back down the corridor. She was proud of herself for remaining detached. After the ultimate test of intimacy, she was still not besotted. Though she loved Alphard, she held no illusion that they could be anything more. 

Unfortunately, this strength of will lasted about forty-eight hours. When it wore off, Mel spent two days in bed crying—coincidently this heartbreak fell on a weekend. Cruelly, her mind replayed his touch, his trust, over and over, needling her that she would never have it again. 

Back to square one, she told herself, vowing to avoid Alphard completely until the wrenching of her gut at the sight of him was not as fierce. Time to forget him and this silly fancy for good, and to focus on mastering the Cruciatus Curse. 

Pity it was Sunday, and the Defense practice set-up wasn’t available until Wednesday. No matter—she could wait. 

~ 

The expected triad of upper-year boys immediately pounced on Harper to ask her to the ball. “I’ve got detention,” she told each of them, eyebrows slanted up in pseudo-rue. 

“Who on Earth would give you detention on the night of the ball?” Clovis Grisham asked indignantly. 

“Riddle, who else?” 

“What the hell have you done?” Icarus Yaxley demanded. 

“Gave him cheek,” she told him, thinking fast. 

Felix Murdoch didn’t ask any questions, already knowing he couldn’t take her for one reason or another. He told her later that he was taking Otylia Masiakiewicz “strictly as friends.” 

That was believable enough, but a pang passed through Harper’s chest at the thought of the pair dancing together. She appreciated Felix’s invite, since it went directly against their fathers’ previous orders, but she was more appreciative of having an excuse to skip the thing altogether. Finding a husband that wasn’t Murdoch was at the very bottom of her priority list. 

And so, she remained in her dormitory while everyone else polished themselves up with fumbling hands and nervous chatter before meandering to the Great Hall. To pass the time, she sat at her desk and went over the Healer Training application she’d requested from St. Mungo’s. 

It had come a few days ago and she’d filled it out that night. Slughorn had already promised her a letter of recommendation, but she needed another. A letter that would hold as much weight as Slughorn’s would be from Pallene Myriad, professor of Alchemy. The problem was that Harper, in her own opinion, was rubbish in Alchemy. The class was her only E mark on a list of Os, and she was rather embarrassed about it. Another option was Mataranga Groot, professor of Herbology, but Harper wasn’t keen on asking Professor Groot anything, as the lady’s temper was the shortest in all of Hogwarts. 

Harper sighed; Professor Myriad it was, then. After a quick rehearsal in her head of how she would approach her, she moved on to check her application. She’d written everything in her neatest print, which to her still looked sloppy, but it was legible at least. Her signature on the bottom of the page was the only familiar-looking part. She tried to imagine herself in lime green Healer’s robes, but the image would not come. Perhaps it was too much to hope for at the moment. 

The ball started at half-seven and her detention was not until nine, so the common room was hers for a bit. She briefly debated wandering the castle, but she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself despite having a valid reason for not attending the ball. 

Eventually nine o’clock was approaching, so Harper headed to the Defense classroom, building up her Occlumency web. It seemed to come so strong, so easily, but Riddle had torn through it as if it was spun by a spider. I must keep him out, she told herself, recalling with a shudder those dormant memories of Charles’ beration. 

“Professor,” she called once she was in the classroom. As usual, all was dark except the strip of light escaping through the gap by his office door. 

“Enter, Miss Messier.” 

Harper stepped into the dimly-lit office. Only his desk lamp was on, fireplace empty. Behind the slightly ajar door of his bedchamber was the soft glow and crackle of flames. 

Riddle was already standing. She backed up and watched him walk around his desk. In this moment, she couldn’t decipher her feelings toward him. He’d been so cruel the last lesson, but it had helped her weave the web stronger, thickening the ropes. 

_ “Legilimens!”  _

The web stretched and pulled… And just like that, he was in. No flicking through memories; he knew exactly where he was going, which turned out to be that carefree summer day she’d spent with Felix Murdoch. To her horror, she realised it was playing in reverse. She and Murdoch were in the forest, but it was darker, hazy. Her fantasy-self was opening her legs, pulling back her skirt. Then on her bed, her real-self, rubbing herself, crying, running up the stairs, recoiling at Charles’ slap…

It paused there, and Harper found herself staring at her own face fighting back tears. 

“Ah, here’s where Daddy puts Harpalyke in her place,” Riddle’s voice was mocking from somewhere. Despite her hands trembling with anger, she threw all her might into bringing up the web. He broke through it instantly, but something odd remained: a blurry silhouette visible in the foyer of Number 18, wand raised. 

Before she was conscious of her actions, she was stepping forward, hands splayed at her sides. Fluidly, her body morphed into Legilimency stance with nothing but pure determination. Her right foot stomped down on his left as her hand swiftly snatched the wand from his cold, white fingers. 

_ “Legilimens!” _ she bawled, jamming the wand upward toward the owner’s throat. 

At once, the room dissolved into rapid flashes, though she was still aware of her hand gripping the yew. Scenes she had never seen before came rushing in—a large, dark room against harsh white sheets, beds neatly lined in rows as far as she could see…

A small room, walls of bricks, a young, dark-haired boy crouched in the corner next to a metal cot…the sirens, those which had been constantly wailing a few years ago… Harper remembered their cries, faint from her window of Number 18, but these were piercing, the room was shaking, the boy crouched smaller still… The sirens overtook her, squeezing her eyes shut… 

Another dark place Harper had never been before: outside, on a country path. Everything was silent except the footsteps of a familiar teenage boy. Against the inky sky sparkling with stars, a manor house stood atop a grassy hill, his apparent destination… 

Then a glaring white static took over, pushing her backwards. Blindly groping for something to keep her steady, she found nothing, but thankfully she managed to catch her balance. 

Heart hammering, Harper raised her eyes to Riddle. His wand was still clutched in her fist, but he was making no move toward it. He simply stood, eyebrows raised, watching her. 

“Well, you’ve done it, though I would have preferred less impulsive violence. Go on, do it again.” 

For a moment, she froze, mute, until she tentatively raised the wand.  _ “Legilimens,” _ she said, expecting to be blocked. 

To her surprise, she was in his mind again, looking at a girl lying under a bloke, pale legs in black hose wrapped around his waist—herself and Riddle. He was running his hand over her breasts, down her torso. Harper felt her stomach stirring but also roots sprouting from a seed of desire. 

Feeling her cheeks grow burning hot, she yanked the wand away, tossing her back into the classroom in front of Riddle. In her haste, she unwittingly pointed it behind her, setting the top of the bookshelf on fire. 

_ “Aguamenti!” _ she cried, sending a stream of water to extinguish the flames. The remains of the top shelf was a charred, wet mess. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any books on that shelf, but between setting it on fire and invading her professor’s mind, her panic was at an all-time high. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she gasped, placing a hand over her heart as she turned around. 

Riddle was laughing, but oddly, she could detect no traces of condescension. He held out his hand and she relinquished his wand in a hurry. 

“That memory is one of my fondest,” he remarked, pointedly looking her up and down. Whereas his initial expression had been indecipherable, naked lust flashed in his eyes. 

However, she was preoccupied with his words echoing in her head:  _ one of my fondest... _ If his personality was any indicator, along with what she’d just seen, he didn’t seem to have many fond memories—

Before her thoughts could run off with that, Riddle tucked away his wand, stepped closer, and took her face in his hands. For a moment, he glared at her, causing her to bring up the web, but nothing pushed against it. Then he ducked his head and captured her lips with his. 

Alright, so we’re doing this again, she thought, not necessarily surprised. Not at all displeased, either; in fact, she quite preferred Riddle this way over any other. 

Her back pressed against the wall as his mouth moved to her neck, breaths filled with words tickling her skin. “Such a little beast you are, breaking into the mind of a professor. You think you’re a woman now for lying with a wizard, but you’re still just a naughty little girl.” 

He was needling her for protest or reluctance. He found neither, for she was aching with desire, biting her lip as he lifted her dress and gripped her inner thigh. Breathing heavily, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Just as the pad of his thumb stroked the heated spot through her knickers, they heard a loud crash from behind the closed door to the classroom. 

“Son of a bitch,” a male voice grumbled, footsteps approaching. 

Riddle released Harper and strode briskly to his desk. When they were both seated, he pulled his wand out and opened the door. 

Yaxley waltzed into the office with a smug expression on his face. “Good evening, Professor,” he greeted loudly. “I’ve come to escort Miss Messier to the common room.” 

He’d clearly had a bit to drink, but he wasn’t stumbling and slurring just yet. Harper briefly wondered if the ball had finished and how much time had passed. 

“That’s very kind of you, Icarus,” said Riddle with a touch of impatience. “But might I remind you that Miss Messier is a prefect and therefore does not need an escort. Also, her detention isn’t quite finished.”

Yaxley nodded, another idea how to pass time seeming to dawn upon him. Without hesitation, he turned and walked out of the office, calling, “Goodnight, sir,” over his shoulder. 

No sooner had the classroom door shut behind him, Riddle locked the office again and stood up. “Come with me.” 

Harper followed him into his bedchamber, where the air was considerably warmer. They both hung up their robes on the door before he placed a hand on her back and led her to the bed. There, a sober yet more intense version of the events on New Years Eve ended with both of them collapsing on the bed, spent.

Harper’s release had come stronger than ever, perhaps due to the delay from the interruption. It took her a few minutes to land back down on Earth and collect herself. At some point, Riddle had latched his fist onto her hair, pulling the front loose from the pins. She took them out, smoothed down her hair, and stood to adjust her dress. 

“I think it’s best I leave,” she told him, unsure if she was expected to stay or not. If she had to guess, she’d say no, but she provided an explanation anyway. “The ball is probably finished and there’ll be plenty of alcohol-induced fuss kicked up, see.” 

He nodded, sitting in the green armchair next to the fire. “Goodnight, Harper.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

The corridor was clear. A look at her watch told her it was nearing midnight. Since it was well after curfew, everyone was likely in the common rooms, continuing their festivities. However, upon arriving in the Slytherin common room, she found only Murdoch and Yaxley sharing a bottle of firewhiskey. Presumably, they’d told everyone to clear off. 

“Well, well, look who’s finally done with detention,” Yaxley called, slurring now. Both boys’ light eyes were slit and tinged with red. 

“She’s been in detention this whole time?” Murdoch demanded, eyeing Harper up and down. 

“Sure has,” Yaxley answered, a savage grin spreading across his sleepy face, knowing exactly what he was implying. 

Harper was about to snap at him to shut his mouth, but then Alphard Black appeared, looking harassed, and the boys greeted him heartily. 

“Oi, Black, there you are! Come have a drink, mate!” 

With reluctance, Alphard took a seat in the chair nearby. Yaxley busied himself with getting the brown, foul-smelling liquid into a goblet despite his wobbly aim. Meanwhile, Murdoch had his gaze on Harper, who was trying to subtly retreat upstairs. Feeling his eyes on her back, she pictured herself at that moment: face flushed, hair undone, coming back from Riddle’s office at midnight… 

No matter, she assured herself as she locked the door of her dormitory behind her. They were drunk enough that the recollection would fail to stick. 

Back at her desk at last, she tucked the Healer Training application delicately in the top drawer. She mustn’t have any distractions; she needed to mull over the evening and piece it together. Now that the post-climax haze had dissipated, her head was clear. 

Riddle’s mind—how to describe it? Dark, for one, and full of something that had made Harper’s heart thump in her chest. That young boy had been in his orphanage during the muggle war. Mel had told her the McCreadys huddled up when the flying machines raced through the sky, but Harper hadn’t really grasped the danger.

The difference between that boy’s experience and Mel’s was that Mel crouched in the corner of her flat between her mom and aunt, each woman holding her hands. Whereas Riddle was on his own. Had he ever in those moments wished for someone else? 

Of the five memories she’d seen, three were tinged dark and pumped up her heart: the two at the orphanage and that odd house in the countryside. Yet the latter shared a common red-orange color that slowed her heart, an almost pleasant feeling, with the last, the one featuring her. Perhaps the “fondness” he spoke of regarding his time with her. What on Earth was the story with that house, then? 

Unconsciously, Harper had taken out a quill and parchment, and her hands recorded without her noticing. Easier to start with the darker ones. Bleakness, misery….the rapid heartbeat...that must have been fear. Fear of what? The bombs—no, the earliest memory of the row of beds was before the war, one of his primary memories. He had been around five or six years of age, judging by one of Annie’s with a similar starkness. 

Harper leaned back and let out a breath. The memory of the house had been so different from the others. Fear there, but not nearly as much as the earlier ones. The teenager had been determined to reach whatever was in that manor. Fear of failure, perhaps. 

She shook her head. She’d never be able to understand someone like Riddle. Then again, she was being rather harsh with herself. She’d gotten into his mind after all. Pity that the more she knew about him, the more she realised she didn’t know. 

A small smile crossed her face as she opened the bottom drawer, pulled out her behavior book, and placed it on her desk. She had, in the technical sense, completed it, every student and staff accounted for. She’d even added Praxidike Warner with a feeling that the ball announcement wouldn’t be the last Hogwarts would see of her pretty face. 

Harper flipped through the pages, found the one she was looking for, and began to write. 


	18. Complex of the Ego

Ten o’clock at night on a day that Alphard thought would never end. The Hogwarts student body was being its usual reckless, ruckus-causing self, but since the ball, the mayhem took on an insidious tone: witches and wizards alike were slipping love potions in drinks, making right fools of themselves trying to catch a partner. 

Since love potions were banned, Alphard kept an eye out for any odd-shaped parcels. None came, so eventually he concluded that the source was within the castle. 

Given past events, his first and only suspect was Theobroma Tauriello. At first, Alphard could not figure out her motive—she had at least half of the upper-year boys on the go—but she was likely in it for profit. 

He really should have gone back to his dormitory and finished his study guide for NEWTs, now only a month away. But he couldn’t delay this if Tauriello really was stirring up trouble again. Thus, he headed to the seventh floor. He got to the third before he ran into a diversion in the form of Felix Murdoch. 

“Felix, it’s 10:27,” Alphard told him, suppressing a sigh. He wasn’t the type to raise his wand on another, but sometimes Murdoch pushed him very close to that idea. Unfortunately, the boy was twice his size and skill level. 

“I’m looking for you, actually,” he said. 

Alphard suspected he was lying, but he nodded curtly for him to continue, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Harper Messier had detention with Riddle on the night of the ball,” Murdoch stated as if he was relaying some profound knowledge. 

“Yes…” 

“Why? What for?” 

“I have no idea.” Alphard frowned, not understanding the urgency.

“She’s got detention every Friday,” Murdoch went on, narrowing his eyes. “And she’s in there well beyond curfew. She’s still in there now. What on Earth—?” 

“I’m sorry, Felix, but I’m not sure where this is headed,” Alphard interjected. “I honestly haven’t a clue what she’s done to earn so many. Didn’t Yaxley say she’d gotten mouthy with Riddle?” 

Murdoch looked away, biting his lip before raising his eyes to Alphard’s. “Alphard, tell me the truth. Do you reckon something’s going on between her and Riddle?”

_ Yes, _ his mind replied automatically, bringing up the times he’d seen Harper leaving Riddle’s office late at night with puffy lips and knotted hair. There wasn’t a chance in hell Alphard was climbing into this hot water, so he said, “I don’t know.” 

“Alright, then.” Felix nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response. “See you around, mate.” 

Alphard hummed noncommittally before he turned back around. “And Felix,  _ please _ keep out of the corridors after curfew.” 

He heard a grumbled response, but he was already walking away, intent on getting Tauriello before she left the seventh floor. He couldn’t find an entrance to any lab on that floor, so he decided to wait for her. 

After an hour of crouching behind the statue like a dunce, Alphard was forced to deduce that she was not there. He straightened up and began to pace the spot where he’d caught Tauriello with the supply of Double P. Perhaps he could go to the common room and ask around if anyone had seen her, but at that moment, the task seemed too monumental to carry out. If he could just be alone for a while...he needed somewhere peaceful to think...where no one could find him… 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something he was very sure hadn’t been there before: a door on the wall nearby. 

“Huh,” he muttered to himself as he approached it. How on Earth could he have missed that? Now that he was directly in front of it, the door seemed glaringly obvious. With a glance around the corridor, he stepped inside. 

Fully expecting to enter a potions lab, he was startled to find himself in the middle of a sitting room, complete with chintz sofas and tea tables. On the opposite wall was a window facing out to the grounds, but it was artificial—the sun was streaming onto a large, colorful carpet spread across the wooden floor. 

Though Alphard had no idea if the room was a mirage, real, or a portal to another dimension, the air of it calmed him immediately. Upon a closer look, it resembled the sitting room of his uncle Arcturus’ manor, where he used to pass time with Lucretia, acting out Greek tragedies. 

He smiled as he took a seat on the sofa and reclined, recalling the memories shared with his cousin. Lucretia was the only one of his family, save for his mother occasionally, who Alphard genuinely enjoyed the company of. Soon his thoughts shifted to another female, the most important one of all, again save for Irma Black. 

Mel—had he known about this room a couple of weeks ago, they could have come here. He thought of taking her one day but with their last days of Hogwarts approaching fast, the chance was unlikely. 

Since their rendezvous, Alphard had been too busy to reflect on it, falling asleep before he could immerse himself in the memory. It was one of his best, despite wishing their first sexual encounter had taken place on a bed. Mel was beautiful in and out, her touch electrifying. Now he was free to fully relax and absorb, just like he’d been wishing. It was almost as if the room had heeded his exact request. 

Once his time with Mel had played out in full, Alphard left the room, committing the location to memory, and went back to the dungeons. In the common room, he was immediately accosted by Harper thrusting the rounds reports under his nose. “Sorry they’re late! See you, Alphard.” She flounced up the stairs before he could reply. 

He shook his head, blinking exhaustion from his eyes. He’d completely forgotten it was Friday. For a second, he debated calling after Harper and warning her about Murdoch’s earlier confrontation but jettisoned the idea. It was her business whether she was having an affair with Riddle, as bizarre as Alphard found the concept. Neither of them were exactly the romantic type. 

However, he had his own romantic endeavor to think of, so he made a beeline to his dormitory to continue doing exactly that. 

The following Monday, he was pulled aside by Ignatius Prewett after Transfiguration. “Oi, Alphard, DA meeting tonight at half-eight.”

The first thing that sprang to Alphard’s mind was his NEWT study schedule. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to forgo it that night, so he simply nodded. If he chose not to go, he could always pass along the message to Beatrice. 

Ultimately, he decided to attend, since he was unable to focus on his Arithmancy notes without rubbing his eyes every other minute. Beatrice had also forgone her rigid study plan, for she was the one he spotted first upon arriving in Professor Vector’s classroom. 

Professor Vector was not present, and the group was considerably smaller. The air was thick with stress, apparently due to the leader, Antonia Longbottom, pacing the front of the classroom with her arms crossed. 

“Ignatius, lock the door,” she commanded. “Listen up. We’ve got to up the ante against the Regime. Between this ridiculous marriage decree and forcible exclusion of muggleborns, we mustn’t put up with this nonsense!” 

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Henry Higgins asked. “We’re about to start NEWTs.” 

“And we’re about to leave Hogwarts! I, for one, cannot walk these halls with my head down, quiet and compliant. That’s what our ‘Leader’ wants us to be—obedient and voiceless.” 

“Antonia,” Beatrice spoke up as the rest exchanged uneasy glances. “Of course we want to stand up to the Regime...but blatantly speaking against it will only bring us trouble.”

“That’s the point,” Antonia replied frostily. 

“I, erm, I can’t afford to get into any trouble,” Alphard blurted. “My family is quite enamoured with the Regime, see, and it would—” 

“All the more reason to fight!” Antonia cut him off. “You’re a pureblood with prestige! By simply going along with your family’s wishes, you’re just as bad as if you’d be touting them yourself.” 

“That’s not fair, Antonia,” said Ignatius, eyeing her with mixture of caution and disdain. “The Blacks have a lot of influence in the Ministry. Alphard’s defiance would be akin to suicide for both his career and family ties.” 

Antonia opened her mouth to reply, but Ignatius continued, growing more agitated. “And another thing, my family’s in a heap of trouble as it is, being suspected ‘blood traitors’ and all. Tell me, Antonia, what do you think will happen if I start racking up a fuss? My father will get sacked from the Ministry. He’s lucky he hasn’t been yet, and it’s not like they’d take me at this point, either.” 

He paused to inhale, so Beatrice took the opportunity to explain in gentler terms. “Too much is at stake here for many of us. We want to stand up to them, we truly do, but we must think of subtler ways. Not getting married, for example.” 

Eileen Prince and Florence Bones nodded along, seemingly sharing Alphard’s sentiment. 

“Fine,” Antonia finally sighed. “We’ll just continue what we’ve been doing, which is sod all.” 

With that, she looked around the room, glaring with her arms crossed. “I suppose this meeting’s over, then.” 

Since no one wanted to argue with a volatile Longbottom, they cleared out, glancing furtively at each other. Once they were out in the corridor, Alphard debated on taking a walk to the lake in an attempt to find Mel, but he found himself between Ignatius and Beatrice. 

“Well, that went swimmingly, wouldn’t you say, mate?” Ignatius joked. Alphard mustered a weak smile but didn’t reply. 

Beatrice, in contrast, looked pensive and tense. “I really hope this isn’t the end of the DA. It’s really beneficial to have news not filtered through The Oracle.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ignatius assured her. “If Longbottom goes batty on us, we’ll keep it up on our own outside of school. We can form a code and exchange letters.” 

“Great idea,” Beatrice responded enthusiastically. 

Alphard tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat to no avail. He did have news that wouldn’t be reported by The Oracle or Professor Vector—crucial news. However, he could never speak of it and risk jeopardising his family. What would Ignatius, who he was beginning to view as a friend, think of the knowledge Alphard was holding back? What would Beatrice think, or Mel, or his professors other than Riddle? Only he and the other Slytherins knew of the woe to surely come once the Knights came into power, guided by the Dark Lord, a current instructor of magic. 

“Excuse me,” he said to the other two before slinking off. Luckily, they were in full-fledged conversation about NEWTs and studying, so they barely noticed him.

The high from his encounter with Mel had worn off; back to heavy, depressing reality. The only place worse than the wrong side of humanity, he supposed, was smack in the middle. At least Cygnus, Yaxley, and Murdoch were happy planning the mayhem to come. 

The only other one in a similar position he could think of was Harper, but even she seemed quite pleased to be in Riddle’s company. Did she know who he really was? He doubted it; she didn’t seem the type to go to bed with power-hungry wizards. Then again, it would be quite easy for a witch to fall under his seduction. Additionally, Alphard realised he really didn’t know Harper that well, or anyone else he thought he had, including Mel, including Cygnus. 

~

To her immense frustration, Harper was late to detention. She’d had to haul a hex-firing Hufflepuff to Professor Clough on the sixth floor right around nine o’clock, keeping her from the dungeons until ten minutes past. There, she immediately bumped into Felix Murdoch, who really wasn’t supposed to be out in the corridors, but she knew he was on some mission, carrying out a hopefully-benign duty of the “Knights.” 

“Where are you off to?” he asked in a somewhat demanding tone, eyeing her up and down. 

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a no-nonsense look. “I should be asking you the same.”

“Looks like we’re both doing something we shouldn’t,” he retorted with a trace of bitterness. 

Her authoritarian guise melted away without her permission and she was left flustered. “We—I beg your pardon?” 

Felix held her eyes, searching for something unknown. Quickly, she slid the web under the memories most prominent: NEWT studies and Annie’s release from St. Mungo’s after “great progress,” returning to Number 18. All Harper had to do was get through the NEWT-filled week and she could—

“You know what I’m talking about,” Felix said, jerking her back to Earth. He had his gaze trained on her, withholding accusation. 

“No, Felix, I really don’t,” she said, frowning in confusion. “I’m on my way to detention, so I’ve got to—”

“Come off it. I know what you’re doing in there with Riddle.” 

Harper’s jaw dropped before she could stop it, her cheeks flushing pink. She strengthened the web, since he knew Legilimency, but he didn’t poke at it, already knowing the answer. 

“Suppose you’re the Dark Lady now,” he muttered, turning away. Whereas he’d been angry before, now he just looked glum, defeated. 

“Wait, Felix…” She reached a hand out, but he was already walking away, staring resolutely ahead. For a moment, she debated going after him, but there was nothing she could say to make him feel better without lying. Apart from him being able to tell, she did not want to be dishonest with him. And just what did “Dark Lady” mean? 

More urgently, it was 9:20, and picturing Riddle’s aggravation at her lateness brought sweat to her palms. With reluctance, she turned her back to Felix’ retreating figure and continued down the corridor. 

How on Earth had he found out, anyway? That was concerning, if other Slytherins could find out what she was up to. Aside from the judgement she would receive, she could get into a bit of academic trouble. The last thing she needed was more disciplinary action in her final week of Hogwarts.

It dawned in her that this was her last detention, her last week… Then that was it, she was out of Hogwarts for good. The realisation filled her with sorrow, for she had quite an attachment to the castle. Then came the doom at the prospect of being Obliviated. Would he, after all of this? Of course he would—she knew quite a lot about him now.  

To distract herself from the gnawing at her chest, she thought of Annie again, about her release from St. Mungo’s. Harper was more sceptical than hopeful, as the environment at Number 18 was likely to trigger a regression. 

“Is that you, Miss Messier?” Riddle’s voice called from the office as soon as she stepped foot inside the classroom. 

“Yes, sir.”

Once she entered the office, he waved the door shut behind her and glowered at her. “Why are you so late? It’s nearly half-past.” 

“My apologies, sir. I had to deliver a misbehaving student to Professor Clough,” she explained, expecting him to sift through her mind to see the truth. 

He did not, seeming to believe her, for he lowered his eyes to the parchment he’d been writing on. After writing down another line while Harper stood awkwardly in place, he said, “Tonight, you’ll be practising Occlumency under direct attack like last week. Stand in the center and take out your wand.”

She did as she was told. He set his quill down, walked around the desk, and stood in front of her, wand raised. “I’ll be thoroughly grateful if you refrain from stomping on my foot this time.” 

Before Harper could open her mouth, he uttered,  _ “Legilimens!” _

The web held up surprisingly well, but not five minutes later, it started to fray under the pressure. 

“Getting stronger,” Riddle remarked, relenting. Harper took advantage of the pause to mend the web, but then he came barreling in full-force.  _ “Legilimens!”  _

Unsurprisingly, the most recent significant memory was most prominent: right before the detention, standing in the corridor with Felix. Looking at herself from an outside point of view, she could see just how much her face gave away. Then Felix’ face dropped and he turned away, disappointed. An invisible hand squeezed her heart for a moment, and Harper realised that she herself was disappointed to lose that connection with him. 

The scene changed into that fine summer day in the forest between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, late afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Felix caressed her cheek before leaning in, pressing his lips to hers. Then, oddly, she was back in the office, staring at Riddle’s feet, wand hand hanging limply by her side. The fingertips of the other were pressed against her lips. 

She raised her eyes to Riddle and saw that he was furious. Just as she recoiled, his face abruptly switched to blank. “Ah, her first fancy, is it? Tell me, dear, do you love him?” 

Her head shook before her brain formed an answer. She’d never given serious thought about her feelings for Felix. Of course she didn’t love him; that was absurd, yet it was more than the usual fondness she had in years past. 

Riddle looked away, disregarding her presence as he walked over to the circular window. The lake was black, since it was nearing ten at night, but he stared through it nonetheless. 

“Love is for the weak,” he said softly. “Only fools place their faith in it. Fools that would have otherwise been strong. Fools that throw away superior magic just to lie with unworthy filth.” 

Harper, unsure whether Riddle was speaking to her or himself, tucked her wand away and swallowed hard. He was referring to someone specific, and she had an idea who. 

While he fell silent, still staring out the window, she recalled every bit of information she’d collected about his parents: muggle father left witch mother, never checked to see what became of his son. If he only knew now, she thought. 

During his Hogwarts years, Riddle had dismissed his parents as imbeciles, only playing up his relation to Salazar Slytherin. Apparently, that was not the only sentiment he held in regards to them. 

Suddenly remembering she was there, he looked directly at her. “Wouldn’t you agree? Or are you too besotted with Murdoch to see reason?”

“No,” she croaked before swallowing hard again.

He scoffed, a malicious glint in his eye as he appraised the girl standing in front of him. “You’re just like every other silly witch in this school, desperate for love. Especially you, since Mummy and Daddy fall short of giving you any.” 

“No, sir,” Harper told him neutrally. “It is because of that why the opposite is true.” 

“Please. Murdoch is just like your father,” he shot back. “You haven’t read of the ‘Oedipus complex’ yet? Daddy dearest is pompous and arrogant and so is Murdoch. Not a coincidence, dear.” 

“That’s not true!” Harper snapped, but much to her dismay, her face was growing hot. “They are nothing alike. In fact, speaking of pompous and arrogant, the one who’s most like my father is you!” 

Riddle raised his eyebrows, looking amused. “Do go on.” 

“Both ill-tempered, both power-hungry, both thinking they’re the greatest to grace the wizarding world!” Her temper was up; she paced in a huff, fists curling, while her professor merely looked on. 

“Both half-bloods,” she continued savagely, pursing her lips and facing Riddle with her arms crossed. “And both too ashamed to admit it, hiding behind a wall of hatred.” 

To her great satisfaction and slight apprehension, the words wiped the smirk from his face, replacing it with tightened lips and narrowed eyes. Expecting him to turn his wand on her, her hand hovered over her chest. However, he simply chuckled and took a step closer. 

“Further proving my point,” he told her smugly, “about the Oedipus complex. I am similar to him and yet here you are, undressing for me at every opportunity.” 

Now the blood rushed straight to her cheeks, forcing her to turn away, covering her face. Riddle’s aggravating chuckle reached her ears, but she was too embarrassed to speak. When she’d gotten a grip on herself, she turned back to him and saw that he had his hand extended, waiting for hers. “Come.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. What made him think he would get her into bed after all that ridicule? At least she’d evened the score with that talk of half-bloods. 

“I said come, Harper.”

The muscles in her right hand were twitching. Eventually, she lifted it and placed it in his. 

Once behind the locked bedroom door, the only light from a dying candle, it was easier to shove her ill feelings toward Riddle aside. He helped by gently pulling her lips in between his, holding her close with his hands around her hips. 

However, Harper was having a hard time relaxing fully, even though her mind was blank. Still keeping his patience, Riddle unbuttoned her robes and blouse, speaking in her ear in a low, coaxing voice. 

“Relax, girl, let me take control.”

If a crown was given to the king of persuasion, it would be placed atop Riddle’s head. After not even a minute, his hands and lips took away all else. Her irritation with him, sorrow over Felix Murdoch, and stress over NEWTs, Annie, and her Defense assignment all floated right out of her mind. 

~ 

NEWTs were no harder than OWLs so far, Alphard noticed, but all the easy subjects were behind him. Fortunately, he was advancing in his Defense assignment, but he had to place it on hold to study for Arithmancy, Alchemy, and Astronomy all within the same forty-eight hours, the last taking place at midnight. He spent all his free time in the library, often sitting with Ignatius Prewett. 

The other was particularly apt at Astronomy, which was the sole topic for the majority of the study sessions, but as the days passed, they started talking about unrelated things during breaks. They didn’t dare speak of the Regime or the DA, but Alphard did ask him of Antonia. 

“Is she...still cross?” 

It was Day Three of the five designated for NEWTs. The seventh-years were hunched over desks in the library every free period, tiny print and notes blurring in front of dreary, dark-circled eyes. Ravenclaws such as Henry Higgins, Antonia Longbottom, and Emmeline Arnold were absent, preferring their own spacious common room. 

Ignatius rubbed his fatigued, red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve no idea, to be honest. She’s not speaking to me or Higgins so I’d say yes, but I don’t know about the others. Suppose I can ask Beatrice, but I think she fancies me, so I try and stay away from her.”

“She fancies me, too,” Alphard told him. “Though she doesn’t come out and say it in light of Head Duties, I suppose.” 

“Lucky you.” Ignatius looked around the library before asking, “Speaking of fancy, are you ever going to ask Mel to go steady?”

Acid burned in the back of Alphard’s throat. Swallowing it away, he replied, “Not sure.” 

“Reckon it’s difficult at the moment.” Ignatius fiddled with his quill, rolling the feathers between the pads of his fingers. “With all the regulation going on.” 

Alphard hummed in agreement, thinking of Cygnus’ last letter urging him to propose to the only Slytherin girl left he deemed worthy enough for the House of Black. “My brother wants me to ask for the hand of Harper Messier,” he said, not realising he was speaking out loud. “But neither she nor I are interested.” 

Ignatius nodded thoughtfully. “She fancies Murdoch, no? Boy, am I glad Yaxley’s gone and decided to race him for her, keeps them off my back.”

Before Alphard could formulate a reply, a long, drawn-out cross between a moan and a wail filled the air. Everyone started, looking around in confusion. A second cry came from down the corridor. Someone had passed the library bawling at the top of their voice. 

“What in the name of Merlin was that?” Ignatius asked, breaking the ensuing silence. 

A few of the surrounding students tittered nervously. “I haven’t the faintest,” said Alphard, shrugging. “You reckon we should get back to studying?” 

“Suppose so.” 

In the same second Ignatius pulled the scroll with the orbital velocity equations closer to read from, someone tapped on Alphard’s shoulder. 

“Sorry to bother you, mate,” said Evan Rosier, looking harassed, “but Eileen Prince is in a right state, howling louder than that blasted Moaning Myrtle.” 

Alphard stifled an exasperated sigh. “Can you find Messier and send her that way? I’m rubbish at comforting girls even without a NEWT approaching.” 

“Haven’t seen her since breakfast,” Rosier told him. “I looked for her first, but have not a clue where she is.” 

“Golly, what a shock,” Alphard muttered, slamming his textbook shut. “Where’s Prince, then?” 

“Dunno. On the grounds, I suppose. She was headed that way.” 

Alphard said goodbye to Ignatius and followed Rosier out of the castle. Sure enough, Eileen Prince was crouching on the shore of the lake, sobbing into her hands. Flanked by her side were Theobroma Tauriello and Otylia Masiakiewicz, who had evidently paused their spat over Riddle to comfort their fellow Slytherin. 

“What on Earth happened?” Alphard asked as he approached the cluster of witches. 

“She asked Clovis Grisham to go steady,” Otylia, the closest, explained, taking on an oddly solemn demeanor. “And he rejected her. I tried telling her he’s a prat, but she’s not having any of it.” 

Theobroma was trying a different approach, brushing Eileen’s lank black hair from her face. “Come on, lady, he’s not worth it. You don’t want a playboy, you want to play boys, you know what I mean?” The girl winked and nudged Eileen, smirking conspiratorially. 

“You’d know about all types of boys,” Otylia mumbled under her breath. 

The words were still audible to Theobroma, for she began to snarl a reply, but Alphard called loudly, “Eileen,” cutting her off. 

The smallest girl lifted her head from her hands, tears dripping off her nose. 

“Come, let’s find Harper,” he suggested, holding his hand out.

“Absolutely not,” Eileen burst out. “She’s the reason why Grisham rejected me in the first place!” 

The trio surrounding her simply stared, unsure of what to do. Oddly, she collected herself in the next moment, straightening up and pulling a handkerchief out of her robes. “You’re right, Otylia. He is a prat.” 

Otylia shot a triumphant look at the other two. “See? I know a prat when I see one.” 

“Oh, please, Masiakiewicz,” Theobroma retorted, rolling her eyes. “You did sod all in actual comfort.” 

The pair started to bicker, so Alphard excused himself and went back to the library, where he was pleased to see Ignatius still sitting where he’d left him. 

“Well, then?” the other boy asked as he re-joined and pulled out his textbook. “Is she alright?” 

“I reckon so.” 

Ignatius gazed at him for a second with an unreadable expression. Alphard’s heart sped up even though there wasn’t anything accusatory in the other’s face. Then, without an explanation, he returned to the parchment. “Perhaps we ought to take Longbottom’s advice,” he said to it. “Sometimes I feel like a right hypocrite.” 

Alphard couldn’t voice that he felt like a right hypocrite not just sometimes, but always. Plainly speaking, he was the biggest hypocrite in the entire castle, listening to equal-treatment rhetoric in one ear and plans to destroy those of lesser blood in the other. Not only that but the substantial amount of information he was withholding made him no better than those he was against. 

Seized with guilt again, Alphard told Ignatius he had to use the bathroom and left the library. Eventually, after sitting alone in silence, the crushing guilt subsided and he was able to return to studying albeit by himself in his dormitory, not wishing to interact with anyone. 

The evening dragged on until midnight. The Astronomy NEWT passed without any hang-ups, and Alphard was relieved at the prospect of M and R returning to plain old letters of the alphabet rather than standing for mass and radius. His plan for the rest of the night was to march straight to bed, shedding his clothes before climbing into soft, embracing sheets and closing his eyes. That was scuppered when he found Murdoch and Yaxley in the common room, tipsy on mead and apparently waiting for him. 

“Oi, Black,” said Murdoch in a voice disproportionately steady in relation to his red-rimmed eyes and slight sway in his seat. “Come over here.” 

Alphard could have told him off for ordering around the Head Boy, but in this situation, the badge on his chest was simply a slab of tin. Slowly, he walked over to the small table where the two wizards sat. 

“Have a seat.” Murdoch pointed to an armchair nearby. Again Alphard obeyed, sitting down facing them, sizing them up. They did not look pleased with him, he noted, swallowing hard. 

“Listen mate, we understand that, for some godforsaken reason, you insist on chasing that half-blood McCready.” 

Alphard opened his mouth to protest, ready to fire off, but Murdoch held up a hand and continued. “We’ve allowed it thus far, considering there are plenty worse you can choose from.”

“Last time I checked, you’ve not a shred of authority over me, Murdoch,” Alphard said coolly, joining his clenched fists behind his back. “And you should be glad I’ve chosen McCready and not Messier like everyone expects me to.” 

“Listen here, Black,” Yaxley snapped, narrowing his eyes at Alphard. “We don’t give a damn which bimbo you’re chasing. Everyone important has accepted that you’re a half-blood lover, end of discussion. It’s the company you keep—what are you playing at, anyway, getting chummy with that tosser?” 

“Which tosser?” Alphard frowned, fighting the urge to bring his fists to his eyes and rub. 

“You know damn well which. Prewett, that poxy blood traitor. Honestly, Black, are you  _ trying _ to sink your reputation in the mud?” 

“What on Earth are you on about?” Alphard burst out, pushed past his limit. “I’m simply studying with the bloke.” 

Murdoch took a more insidious approach, feigning kindness. “Listen, mate, we’re just looking out for you is all. Prewett is not to be trusted. In any case, I’ve got a hunch that your brother wouldn’t be too pleased to hear of your newfound friendship.” 

The threat was clear: he was about to run off and tell Cygnus. Alphard did not want to imagine Cygnus’ reaction to the news of his brother being a suspected blood traitor.

“Duly noted,” Alphard muttered, hating how much power these ruthless arseholes had over him. Nevertheless, he still had to keep the coat of armor on and navigate strategically. 

He turned away and clomped up the stairs. “Goodnight, Black,” came Murdoch’s voice from behind him, but he pretended not to hear. He’d lost enough dignity this evening. 

~

_ “Crucio!”  _

The mouse’s beady eyes squeezed shut as it collapsed onto the grain and started writhing, emitting high, drawn-out squeaks. Mel held her wand in place for another few seconds until she felt her resolve draining. 

After giving the mouse a minute to recover, she pointed her wand at it again. _ “Crucio!”  _

Too loud, too desperate. She’d have to work on not shrieking the incantation like she was the one under the curse. For now, she held it for another minute before lifting it again. 

Three flawless attempts later, Mel was feeling quite confident in her ability to perform the curse sufficiently. Of course, being alone with the animal in an otherwise empty room likely contributed to her success. No matter—their presentations were still a week away, the very last day of term. Only one NEWT left to go, so she had a few days to spare for more practice. 

Tucking her wand in her robes, she left the Defense room and headed to the Great Hall for supper. She was starving, which was unusual after practising the Cruciatus Curse. Ordinarily, she didn’t have an appetite after that, but her body seemed to have adjusted. She was hungry enough to eat a whole ham. 

The servings for supper were more modest, she saw as she entered the Hall: steak and kidney pie with potatoes. That was good enough for Mel, who had learned in her younger years not to be picky with food. She took a seat on the far end of the Ravenclaw table and tucked in. 

Nearby, Henry Higgins and Antonia Longbottom were engrossed in conversation, which was odd, since they regularly did not get on well.

“Where did you  _ hear _ that?” she pressed him in a hushed voice. 

“My uncle works in the Foreign Magical Detection Unit,” Henry told her. “Says the the first one happened over the weekend.” 

“Is he  _ sure _ ?” 

“Reckon so, as that’s the theory the whole unit’s come up with.” 

“What’s happened?” asked Beatrice Winter, who appeared out of nowhere beside Mel. 

Antonia glanced around and made eye contact with Mel across from her before Mel lowered her eyes, hastily grabbing her glass of pumpkin juice. The other evidently decided she could speak in front of her and told Beatrice to sit. 

“According to Higgins’ uncle, the Foreign Magical Detection Unit is picking up these strong magical currents from somewhere up north. They think it’s Dumbledore projecting them from Nurmengard.” 

Mel’s hand froze halfway to her mouth, a piece of pie crust impaled through her fork. She sat stone-still, unconcerned with what Antonia thought of her reaction. 

“You’re joking!” Beatrice cried, causing a few heads to turn their way. Henry and Antonia shushed her harshly, jamming their fingers to their lips. Once surrounding conversations resumed, Antonia leaned in again. 

“Do you reckon he’ll have another duel with Grindelwald?” 

“Oh, for sure,” Henry answered. “How else would he be overthrown?” 

An odd sensation was filling Mel’s chest; it was almost as if her lungs were expanding, her heart lifting. She realised a latent hope she’d buried long ago was spreading ever so slightly.

No, she told herself quickly. No hope now—hope was dangerous. Chances were too great it would end in failure. 

Leaving her supper half-eaten, Mel excused herself and headed back to Ravenclaw Tower. Studying was the only activity she could think of to get her mind off of what she’d just heard. She would not let anything interfere with her ability to perform her Defense assignment, especially not some silly hope in probably-nothing. 

Even as her resolve held, she still found it easier to breathe, as if a rope that had been tied around her shoulders was suddenly cut loose. 


	19. Dark Assignments II

Alphard couldn’t believe he’d done it. He’d carried out the Nerve-Inducing Curse in front of Professor Riddle and five of his classmates with little to no error. As soon as his rear returned to his seat, a breath heavy with fear and panic escaped him, loosening his muscles. 

He exchanged a surreptitious relieved glance with Ignatius beside him. Ignatius had gone first, perhaps as an act of mercy by Riddle, knowing his performance would likely be surpassed. 

“Miss McCready, please begin.” 

The relief was temporary: Alphard’s chest tightened again as he watched Mel walk up to the front of the classroom and choose which of the three mice to take, blank-faced. She selected the one in the middle and pulled it closer to the desk so that the mouse was in plain view. After a quick exhale, she turned and faced the class, though she primary spoke to Riddle standing off to the side. 

“We are taught from the moment we can sit up what is acceptable and what isn’t. We are taught what is wrong and what is right. As Professor Riddle said in one of the first lessons, the Ministry of Magic has equated the Dark Arts with ‘wrong.’ We are taught that practising them is wrong.” 

Her eyes fell to the floor as she considered her next words, or maybe she was recalling the next line of her rehearsed speech. 

“But what if what we’ve been taught is wrong? What if our expectations of others, or life, or the world turn out to be wrong? Hurt festers, anger, but we are given no outlet for these naturally-occurring emotions. What happens if it consumes us and eats away at us until we are no longer sane? One outlet is the Cruciatus Curse.” 

She turned to the cage and raised her wand, holding it straight out a couple of inches above her head. “To perform the curse, your wand hand has to be raised 120 degrees, forming a tight fist. The magical force will jolt through the wand at sudden speed, so make sure you’ve got a good grip. Clutch the wand tightly and point it at your target.” 

With her other hand, she pulled out the water bottle on top of the cage, leaving a gap between the bars. “Now here’s where it gets tricky: you must dispel all those morals and beliefs of right and wrong to do this adequately. Go ahead and toss them out the window for now, drown them in the Black Lake. Had something downright rotten happen to you within the past five years? Excellent, that’s your ammunition. You need those ill feelings to consume you no matter how painful they may be.” 

Alphard realised he’d clasped his lower lip between his teeth, biting it hard, nearly drawing blood. He licked it before anyone could notice. Though his heart thumped in his ears, the rest of his body felt detached from his head as he watched the blonde witch at the head of the class. 

“The incantation must be strong, with conviction. Raising your voice helps, though try not to betray any fear or anxiety.  _ Crucio!” _

Loud squealing and thumps against the bars of the cage filled the room as the mouse rolled back and forth, scattering the dusty grain onto the desk. An eternity later, she lowered her arm, lifting the curse, slightly out of breath. The mouse lie in one of the grooves it had created in the grain, emitting tiny squeaks of exhaustion. Mel looked quite exhausted herself, rubbing her arm and swaying slightly. 

“Excellent job, Miss McCready,” Riddle said in a monotone. “Please be seated.” 

“Yes, sir,” Mel replied, triumph tingeing her voice and taking over her face. She slid the cage back in place before returning to her seat. For his own sanity, Alphard decided he wouldn’t look at her for the rest of the lesson. 

“Mr. Yaxley, please begin.” 

Yaxley selected the same mouse as Mel, sliding the middle cage back to the front. “Putting it out of its misery,” he explained to Riddle, who did not reply. 

“Similar to what McCready was talking about, it’s best not to think of this curse with the label the Ministry’s assigned it but rather your own intent. Taking life is just that—a process by which the body is shut down and the soul is set free.” 

Strangely, he seemed to be addressing Harper, since the girl was giving her full, genuine attention. “The curse must be strong enough to pass through the entire brain, to the area in the very bottom which controls autonomic function, and shut it down.” 

Alphard, too, was watching the boy in awe. Yaxley’s voice was strong, his blue eyes clear of their usual malice. He could almost pass as an intellectual. 

“When all movement ceases, the target’s eyes will look like glass. They will retain the facial expression they wore split-seconds before meeting the curse. The glassy eyes signify the soul’s departure from the body, the end of cognition and awareness. This process is called ‘the parting of the sensory,’ named by JW Pierre. According to him, this is when true death occurs. It happens simultaneously with the shutdown of the other systems, though some, like the nervous and circulatory systems, will continue for a while longer.” 

He turned away from them and raised his wand to the mouse, which began to dart frantically around the cage. “Ninety degrees is optimal with your wand aligned with the area in between the target’s eyes. If that’s not looking like an option, like with this mouse, the heart is the next best place to catch.” 

Then, before that could sink in, he bellowed,  _ “Avada Kedavra!” _

Green light flooded the room while the mouse came to a halt and slumped over. It was not the only one: a  _ thump _ came from the other side of Alphard’s table and he turned to see Ignatius flop to the floor, unconscious. “Sir…” he blurted uncertainly. 

“Leave him, Mr. Black,” Riddle told him. “He will come to eventually. Mr. Yaxley, please continue.” 

Yaxley gave a sanctimonious nod before assuming his previous solemn demeanour. “For those of you feeling disgusted, I urge you to think of death not as a tragic event but a natural, inevitable one. Whether it is carried out by us or the planet bears little effect on the outcome. Yes, some die before their time, but who determines when is their time? Death is arbitrary, it does not discriminate between the wealthy and the poor, the good or the evil, or even the strong and the weak.” 

Abruptly, he turned to Riddle, who’d gone quite still, listening intently. “What shall I do with the mouse, Professor?” 

“Nothing, I will take care of it. Well done, Mr. Yaxley. Please be seated.” 

Yaxley obeyed and Murdoch was called up. As he made his way to the front, a groan came from the heap on the floor that was Ignatius. He lifted his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. After a second, he realised what had happened and jumped into his seat. 

“Mr. Prewett, if you need the Hospital Wing, please feel free to go there,” said Riddle. “Black can escort you if need be.”

“No, sir,” Ignatius muttered to his knees, freckled cheeks flushed pink. Yaxley sent a snicker his way, but Riddle immediately silenced him with a stern glare.

Murdoch, after waiting patiently to start, faced forward, speaking directly to the class. 

“Legilimency is an obscure branch of mind magic, centuries old but identified and labeled as Dark Magic by the Ministry of Magic in 1910. Like all other mind magic, it is only ‘Dark’ when used for harm, but since the mind is so fragile, any invasion has the potential to cause harm even unwittingly. Thus, the blanket ban. However, causing harm is not always the motivation for a Legilimens. Insight into another’s mind even for a second could be extremely useful for understanding motive.” 

He selected the cage on the right and pulled it forward. “Mice have very underdeveloped frontal lobes—no thinking and reasoning—and visual memories are limited. Most don’t mean much to us. The best place to be is in the motor cortex, where the mouse plans out its immediate actions. Since it thinks only about the next three seconds or so, you’ll be able to anticipate its movements.

“Let’s go over proper wand stance. It’s easy enough: wand raised 90 degrees, pointed between the target’s eyes, feet apart, back straight. The best distance is ten feet, and a beginner must be within this range as he builds the skill. A more advanced Legilimens can be farther away. Eye contact is  _ essential _ for novices. And now... _ Legilimens!” _

He opened the cage and the mouse bolted out. Alphard, Ignatius, and Mel flinched, but Murdoch was throwing his hand out, blocking the mouse at every turn. Aggravated, the animal hopped around and even over Murdoch’s hand, but since he was in its mind, he knew its every move. 

After another minute of demonstration, he cupped the mouse in his hand and gently placed it back in the cage before latching the door closed. 

“With a human, the procedure is going to be a bit more complex,” Murdoch explained in his usual cocky tone now that he’d successfully carried out the demonstration. Alphard had felt the same strong relief after his own, so he couldn’t blame the boy too much. 

“Our frontal lobes are much larger and more developed, so not only do we have surface thoughts alluding to the present but a culmination of long-term memories and emotions driving our actions. Humans plan far in advance, motivated by reasons more complex than hunger, fear, and so on. You have to sift through them and decipher them if you want to understand any of it. I’d like to take one of you and demonstrate”—his eyes briefly strayed toward Harper—”but, er, Professor Riddle won’t allow it.” 

Nervous titters filled the room; even Ignatius guffawed in amusement. Riddle allowed Murdoch a brief grin and nodded. “Indeed not, Mr. Murdoch, though your explanation will suffice. Please be seated.” 

Murdoch returned to his seat, missed it, and nearly fell to the floor on his rear. He grabbed the edge of the desk just in time, letting out a hearty chuckle as if he’d planned the stumble. Again everyone laughed, releasing more pent-up anxiety. 

Riddle waited for them to quiet down before speaking. “And now our final presentation. Miss Messier, please begin.” 

Harper’s face could have been made from stone, but Alphard noticed her hands shaking as she brought forth the cage on the left. “The Imperius Curse, like Legilimency, is a form of mind magic with multiple uses,” she mumbled to the desk, her hair shielding her face. 

“Please speak up, dear,” Riddle prompted. 

She tucked her hair behind her ear and repeated herself, louder, but kept her eyes on the mouse. 

“Its classification of Dark has already been covered by my classmates. It involves learning how to navigate the mind, meaning a proper grasp of Legilimency is necessary. Whilst Legilimency requires maneuvering the prefrontal cortex, the Imperius Curse allows slightly more freedom. You can choose to enter the motor cortex to control movement, which requires shutting off the frontal lobe. Another option is to allow select thoughts and memories which may be useful in guiding the target to the actions you want them to perform. The lower areas of the brain won’t help you, so best to leave them alone. By shutting down the rest completely, you have full control.” 

Her hair escaped and hung over her face again. She swiped at it impatiently and raised her wand. “To cast, raise your wand 90 degrees and make eye contact, feet apart. Nearly identical to Legilimency stance, except any distance within 50 feet usually works. The incantation must be uttered calmly but firmly.  _ Imperio.”  _

Tucking her wand away, she opened the cage. The mouse trotted into her hand, staring blankly ahead. “Once the spell is cast and you’ve got a solid connection,” Harper explained, “keeping your wand on the target is no longer necessary. You can simply think up commands, voice them or not, and direct them to their mind. For example, ‘roll over.’” 

The mouse instantly obeyed, rolling across her outstretched palm. Then she set it on the table and it began to spin cartwheels, landing with a flourish, arms splayed and head thrown back. Mel smiled and clapped while Harper stared at it with narrowed eyes, fists clutching her robes on both sides, concentrating hard. 

Another minute passed, and the mouse scampered back into the cage. Harper lifted the curse. “Once you establish a strong bond with the target’s mind—it takes a few tries at first—you will no longer have to stay within 50 feet. You can probably cast it from farther away as well, but unfortunately, I haven’t gotten that far. 

“An upside to the Imperius Curse is that once it is lifted, the target will have no memory of their performance under it. If it is cast in a subtle manner, they won’t have any knowledge of being under it at all.” 

Then she fell silent, pushed the cage back, and walked to her seat.  _ Good job, _ Mel mouthed to her, but she didn’t see. 

Riddle watched her clasp her hands on her lap and duck her head, letting out an exhale. Behind her, Murdoch was frowning slightly. 

For a tense moment, everyone in the classroom was silent. The air had lightened considerably, but it was only half over: they had yet to learn how they’d done. 

Riddle drew out this anticipation as long as possible, taking slow steps to the front of the room. Though Alphard thought he’d performed decently, his heart fluttered in his chest as if it’d just been emptied of blood. 

“In the beginning of the academic year, I assigned you these tasks and told you that you have the ability to perform them. Many of you doubted my words, and yourselves. Yet here you all are, every single one of you perfectly able. This is not ordinary magic, ladies and gentlemen, so I am pleased with you all. In particular those who performed mind magic, one of the most complex.”

Murdoch, as expected, visibly inflated, while Harper’s cheeks flushed as she stared at her lap. 

“The Ministry does not govern NEWTs as closely as OWLs,” Riddle continued, “leaving the administration to the staff’s discretion. In celebration, I suppose you could say, I’ve decided you will forgo the written portion of the NEWT. You have demonstrated enough magical talent to prove you’ve been properly educated at Hogwarts.” 

Ignatius looked like someone had set set down a brick of gold in front of him. The girls both held expressions of admiration, Mel’s more obvious than Harper’s, much to Alphard’s annoyance. 

“I know all of you will be successful whichever path you choose after Hogwarts,” Riddle concluded. “You are dismissed.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Yaxley and Murdoch chorused. 

As they stood, Alphard finally understood what his professor was doing, building them up so they’d turn to the one who had given them magical prowess for guidance. There was no telling how the Dark Lord would guide them. 

He looked around at their cheerful faces, not recognising them. He’d been with them for seven years, came of age with them, and yet if he’d been asked before this year if they’d all follow a ruthless killer, Alphard would have said no. With the multitude of statuses they carried, they were united under the guidance of Riddle. Only Alphard saw him for what he was. Who would even believe him if he spoke of it?

“We’re sure lucky it’s done and over with,” said Ignatius, creeping up beside Alphard. “I reckon we did well, yeah?” The rest had gone to the Slytherin common room and Mel was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yeah,” Alphard answered, voice hollow. It didn’t matter much to him anymore whether they did well on the Defense NEWT or any NEWT at all.

Further compounding this hopelessness, Beatrice Winter ambushed them as soon as they stepped into the main corridor. “Alphard—Ignatius,” she said breathlessly, seizing the former’s arm. “Come with me, quick.” 

The boys exchanged confused glances before following her past the Great Hall and through the Entrance Hall to the alcove where the luggage was brought in from the Hogwarts Express. The caretaker, Mr. Pringle, was sweeping the floor, preparing it for when the trunks would be stacked and brought back to the train. He kept his head down, whistling softly, ignoring them.

“They got Antonia Longbottom,” Beatrice blurted in a harsh whisper, appearing on the verge of tears. 

“Who?” 

_ “Them. _ The Regime.” Her hazel eyes were wide, her lower lip trembling. 

Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t—” 

“She was taking the Latin NEWT. Some bloke came in and said she needed to go to the headmaster that instant. That took place around ten o’clock and she’s still not back! She wasn’t in Potions, either—!”

“Whoa, slow down, Beatrice,” Ignatius said patiently, holding his hands up. “There are a number of explanations.” 

“Such as?” 

Alphard’s stomach cramped up, causing him to press a hand against his lower abdomen. The heat from his skin was soothing but he was too wound up to calm the clenching. 

“I dunno…” Ignatius was saying, tapping his chin. “Perhaps she’s in the Hospital Wing?” 

“I doubt it...Prince says the Slytherin boys found out about the DA and one of them, likely Grisham, grassed to Riddle.” She turned to Alphard. “Do you know anything about this?”

All Alphard could do was shake his head. He had heard something: Yaxley, referring to “Dumbledore’s bitch,” their nickname for Antonia, but Alphard couldn’t catch what it was. 

“Well, don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Ignatius assured the frantic Head Girl. “We’ll ask around, right, mate? Where are you going?” 

Alphard’s feet were carrying him away just outside his awareness. At least he had a sense to call, “To the loo!” before turning the corner and breaking into a trot. 

His original destination had been the first floor bathroom. As he passed it, he crossed it out. With his hands balled at his sides, he marched right up to the seventh floor. In the corridor to the Headmaster’s Tower, he paced three times and opened the suddenly-appearing door. 

No sooner than he’d shut it behind him, he took one look around the mimicked library in Uncle Arcturus’ manor and burst into tears. He was beyond his breaking point; everything seemed to be falling to pieces. Grindelwald’s Regime, Riddle’s subtle string-pulling, Mel’s discovery of her own Dark power… There were a multitude of scenarios that could possibly play out in the near future, and none of them spelled out any good. 

Reclining in the familiar armchair, Alphard closed his puffy eyes, imagining he was in the actual library and he was eleven years old again, when Grindelwald was in a distant land and Tom Riddle was simply an orphan. And Lucretia would be in the library, too. Merlin, what he would give to be able to speak to Lucretia right now, to see her bright smile and twinkling dark eyes. He supposed he could write her a letter, but anything resembling the truth would be answered with a cold, typed response from Praxidike Warner. 

He gave himself another twenty minutes to shape up, praying he didn’t look like he’d been crying. The last thing he needed were rumours circulating that the Head Boy was losing his marbles. Though the ride on the Hogwarts Express was a mere three days away, talk of that nature had the potential to follow him straight to the Ministry, where Cygnus was waiting. 

Begrudgingly, Alphard left the room and made his way to the Great Hall. Supper would be served in a few minutes. He was hoping to choke down a bowl of chowder and retreat to the library to “study” even though his NEWTs were over. That plan did not come to fruition, for Ignatius caught him on the way to the Great Hall. 

“Where have you been, mate?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “Listen here, I’ve got good news.” 

“They found Antonia?” Alphard guessed, already slightly less miserable. 

“No, better.” Ignatius looked around, but their company was a group of younger-years coming down the stairs, chatting and horsing around. “Don’t repeat this because we’re not a hundred percent sure, but...Dumbledore’s out of Nurmengard.” 

“No,” Alphard breathed, refusing to believe it even though a burst of hope in his chest signaled the truth. 

“Yes. My cousin’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The word is that he sent out these magical currents and they were tracked down by a sorcerer I’ve not heard of,” said Ignatius in one low breath. “His name is...Flamel?” 

Alphard shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Are you sure he’s out? Is he in England?” 

“I’ve no idea.” 

Bursting with questions, he was ready to clasp the boy’s shoulders and shake all of the information out of him. Before he could ask anything else, Ignatius excused himself to the Gryffindor table. 

The light of the Great Hall seemed brighter, taking on a warmer glow. The air of the room was still the same, stretched under the Regime. Alphard, however, felt his whole body shifting. 

At the Slytherin table, every student was in full-fledged conversation, even Harper, speaking to Yaxley of all people. As Alphard approached, the odd scenario made more sense: Yaxley was talking while Harper politely listened, keeping her distance. He was facing her, leg slung over the bench until Alphard sat across from them. 

“Oi, Black, I was just telling Harper how brilliant her presentation was. She’s a real natural at mind magic, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Yes,” Alphard answered with sincerity. “Where’s Felix?”

“Dunno,” said Yaxley as Harper replied at the same time, “Speaking with Riddle.” 

“Er, alright.” Alphard picked up his fork and began to tuck in his baked beans, Ignatius’ words running through his head. He glanced around the Great Hall for seemingly the tenth time, but the atmosphere was unchanged. Ignatius was speaking quietly to Beatrice, but her face was not in view. 

“...another swell presentation,” Yaxley was saying. “Wouldn’t you say so, Black?” 

“Sorry?” Alphard’s fork slipped out of his hand and landed with a clang on his plate. He snatched it up, prickling with embarrassment. 

Yaxley rolled his eyes. “Murdoch. With that Legilimency, bloody hell.” 

Alphard stared at him, wondering what he was playing at. Yaxley and Murdoch were constantly at each other’s throats and here Yaxley was, complimenting Murdoch? Out of his presence, no less? While simultaneously coming on to the love of Murdoch’s life, granted, but Yaxley was still exceeding his usual threshold of virtue. Unless…

“Yes, even McCready was decent. I’d say the only two who didn’t have their hearts in it were you and that prat, Prewett. What’s the story, Black? Your family’s had the proclivity toward the Dark Arts for centuries. Perhaps that imbecile is turning you into a poxy blood traitor.”

“Icarus,” Harper said warningly, but he ignored her. 

“Perhaps you don’t agree with the Regime at all,” he continued, eyes alight with malice. “Perhaps you’d like to see muggles and wizards mix? Fancy a muggle, do you? Hell, if you’d take McCready, no reason you wouldn’t go lower.”

“Icarus, please do not speak ill of her,” Harper said evenly. She directed a grimace at her plate, clearly restraining from scooting away. 

“I only speak the truth, darling. Well, Black? Are you a true wizard, or a traitor to your kind?” 

Alphard gazed at Yaxley, unable to speak. Just a couple days ago, the boy had been so intimidating, but now, if Ignatius was correct, he no longer had the upper hand. And he had no idea. His ignorance turned him from formidable Knight to insecure young wizard. Beside him, Harper lifted her head, eyes on Alphard. 

“I am a true wizard, Icarus, even by your standards,” he told Yaxley coolly. “And I’ll advise you not to make accusations based on assumptions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better start packing.” 

Without waiting for a reaction, he stood and walked away. On his way out, his eyes found Mel, who had arrived only a few minutes ago, shoveling a spoonful into her mouth. Alphard wished he could tell her the news, but he’d sworn to Ignatius he wouldn’t repeat it to anyone. No matter—if it was indeed true, she would learn of it very soon. Would she be as glad as he, or had she succumbed to the Dark?

Alphard would not let himself imagine the scenario if Dumbledore did escape Nurmengard and return to England. No, he could not. It was too early, too hopeful. Yet as soon as he entered the main corridor, a smile broke out on his face, the first genuine one in years, or so it seemed. 

~

_ Dear Antonia,  _

_ I am overjoyed to hear that you’ve been released and allowed to attend the Farewell Ceremony. I knew Armando Dippet would grant you a diploma regardless of what some slimeball declares. You’ve finished your education, after all. How do you think you did on your NEWTs? I’m sure swell as always, but I still shudder when I recall the Alchemy one.  _

_ Anyway, onto some important news: Nicholas Flamel has discovered where Nurmengard is located and gone to break out Dumbledore. According to James Corner, the Head Auror, he was successful. However, where Dumbledore is now, no one has an idea. I have complete faith that he will return as soon as he can. What our dear Minister will do with him is up to debate.  _

_ It’s unfortunate that you can’t join Edwina and I in the Auror Office, but I know you will do swell in the Department of Mysteries. Mum and Dad are itching to hear from you, so please send them a letter if you haven’t already. Again, I’m pleased to hear you are safe and well. I look forward to seeing you at the Farewell Ceremony. I’m proud of you, sister.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Achilles _

“Oi, Higgins, you’re not going to believe this, but Dumbledore’s out of Nurmengard.”

“You’re lying!” 

“Shh, I promise I’m not. I heard it from my brother. He’s a Trainee Auror, remember? Says that brilliant old wizard Flamel got him out.”

“What are you two talking about? Is something going on?” 

“Have a seat, Beatrice, listen to this. Dumbledore’s out of Nurmengard. Achilles Longbottom says the Auror Office confirmed it.”

“But how is that  _ possible? _ There’s nothing about it in the news!” 

“Yes, well, the poxy Oracle wouldn’t report on it, would they? They wouldn’t want anyone thinking Old Grindy’s about to get permanently sacked.”

“Do you really reckon Dumbledore will defeat him? He wasn’t successful last time.” 

“He’ll certainly try. I don’t think he’ll be alone this time. The Minister has made quite a few enemies during his reign over Europe. Either way, something big is about to happen.”

“Suppose you’re right… Say, what do you reckon happened to the muggles he took out? I sure hope they’re still alive.”

“As do I. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find out very soon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaxley's 'parting of the sensory' speech was inspired by Modest Mouse's song with the same name.


	20. Farewell, Class of 1947

_ Dear Mel,  _

_ I’m writing to you in a last attempt to extend a hand. I still wish to be with you and I hope that, in light of recent events, you will revisit that idea. However, the point of this letter is not to beg you to reconsider. As I stated in the one I sent last summer, that is your choice alone.  _

Alphard sat back and shook his head, sighing. Now that he’d written it out, he couldn’t see a point to sending it. She’d heard it a few times now, and another repeat wouldn’t help. But he couldn’t just let her graduate and leave without—

“Black!” someone bellowed from just outside the dormitory. Startled, he dropped his quill and turned in his seat. 

“Winter’s looking for you!” Yaxley, by the sound of it. Before Alphard could shout acknowledgement, the footsteps bounded off. 

He tucked the note away and left. As he trotted through the common room, avoiding everyone, he checked his watch. It was not yet half-four and the Farewell Ceremony began at six. He knew Beatrice was counting on the whole thing running perfectly to impress Florence Bones’ older brother Maxwell, who was five years out of Hogwarts and already one of the best lawyers in Magical Britain. 

Alphard also knew that the chances of that were slim to none, but he did not voice that, choosing instead to follow her to the Great Hall without complaint. 

The hour that followed was spent checking and re-checking the assignment of families to the right tables. Though families of all students were again invited this year, not too many Slytherins were still in attendance and yet their designated area took up half the Great Hall. The other Houses didn’t have many students, either. Not many had it easy in 1947. 

At half past five, the prefects led the students formed in neat rows to the tables. Once they were all seated “backs straight, mouths closed,” the families were ushered in. 

The title of Head Boy, fortunately, pardoned Alphard from spending too much time with his family. He was required to stand in front of the podium with Beatrice while Dippet made his farewell speech, and after supper he had to “monitor the festivities,” or so he claimed. He chose an inconspicuous spot near the flag and stood against the wall, watching. 

The Slytherin families were slightly subdued, no doubt sweating a bit at the thought of Dumbledore’s return. Yaxley and Murdoch looked downright glum, but Cygnus wasn’t bothered. “We’ll stay on top regardless of who’s running the place,” he’d assured them during supper. 

Druella excused herself from the table to catch Harper on her way to Mel. The girls exchanged a brief embrace and chat before departing. Alphard noticed that Harper’s parents hadn’t come, feeling a stab of pity for the girl. 

Mel was sitting in between her parents, taking on their haggard, slumped appearance. The absence of the plump, red-haired lady that had accompanied them in years past was stark. She must have been a muggle, Alphard surmised, waiting for them at home since the decrees banned her from attending. He hoped that was the case, anyway. 

The McCreadys’ faces lifted slightly when Harper joined them and announced something excitedly. They took on her smile, brightening the air around them. Alphard was enjoying the sight so much that he didn’t see Beatrice approaching. 

“You can go to your table, I’ll keep watch,” she said, an eyebrow wrinkled in aggravation. 

He wanted to decline, not wanting to go to his table, but it appeared that Beatrice needed a break from her own parents. Reluctantly, he meandered over to the table. She took not his place but a spot close to the Hufflepuff table, where the Bones family sat near the chorus stands. 

“Ah, Alphard, there you are,” said Cygnus, waving a hand for him to sit next to him. Alphard obeyed and tuned into the conversation. 

After trading insults about a coworker with David Rosier, Pollux, the Black patriarch, turned to his younger son and congratulated him again on finishing Hogwarts. Alphard basked in the rarely-earned praise before his father urged him to apply for Junior Undersecretary. He readily agreed, hoping the position would buy him a few years before he had to choose a wife. Especially now that it was confirmed that Dumbledore was free. 

“But listen, son,” Pollux said as sternly as he could with three goblets of wine in him. “I do expect you to find a suitable witch in the near future. See that girl at that table there? That’s Nott’s daughter. He’s quite the force on the seventh floor.” 

Alphard looked to where his father gestured, at Julia Nott. Not only was she a second-year, but with her small stature and blonde pigtails, she looked easily half her age. 

“Yes, Father,” he said mechanically. 

Luckily, Aunt Melania spoke up about a letter from Lucretia, and the conversation shifted to politics in France compared to England. Alphard noticed that the younger men were oddly quiet, looking around every so often, barely touching their desserts or goblets. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Alphard asked Cygnus at last. 

His brother nodded jerkily, annoyed. “Obviously. Have you seen him?” 

“Who?” 

“Riddle, you nimwit,” Yaxley hissed from Cygnus’ other side. 

Alphard expected Cygnus to have a stronger reaction, but he only looked around, craning his neck at the professor’s table. Riddle had attended the ceremony and taken supper but cleared off before his fork hit his plate. He’d seemed to be in a hurry somewhere, and Alphard suspected he would not return.  

It made him sick to see his brother, cousin, and classmates desperate to see Riddle, to wait for his instructions like lap-dogs. When he realised Cygnus wasn’t going to pay attention to a single word out of anyone’s mouth, Alphard excused himself to the bathroom. 

He didn’t need to go, but fresh air and distance from the Slytherins both fell into the need category. Compromising on a few paces around the main corridor, he reached the path to the dungeons and spotted Harper Messier. She was walking quietly, appearing her usual self until Alphard saw that her face was red and she was dabbing under her eyes with a handkerchief. 

“Harper,” Alphard called, reaching out a hand in concern and resting it on her shoulder when he’d caught up with her. “What’s the matter?” 

She turned and gave him a wan smile. “No cause for alarm. Just going to miss Hogwarts is all.”

He nodded in sympathy, though he suspected it was more than that. “Is it also...your parents?” 

To his surprise and relief, she let out a laugh. “Heavens, no. I’m the one who caused them to miss it. Gave them tomorrow’s date, see. The train will be approaching King’s Cross by then, if I’ve timed it correctly.” 

She laughed again at his incredulous expression, her mood clearly lifting. “Trust me, it’s no loss. They would’ve laid into me about getting married. Say, there’s another bright side to the potential fall of the Regime. We haven’t got to marry each other." 

He grinned at her with fondness. “That wouldn’t have been the end of the world.”

The pink returned to her cheeks as she looked away and shook her head. “No, Mel’s the one for you. 

“Not according to her, apparently.” It slipped out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. Now he was the one to look away. 

He felt a hand slip into his and turned his head back toward her. “She is,” she said gently, squeezing his fingers. “Trust me.” 

“Are—are you sure?” He’d scold himself for sounding dumb later, wanting so badly to believe those words.

“Oh, yes,” Harper assured him, releasing his hand. “See, Mel’s circumstances have, understandably, consumed her. She only knows her side of the story. Perhaps if you told her yours, she will allow herself to trust in it.” 

She turned away and continued to the dungeons, leaving Alphard standing alone, pondering. 

_ Perhaps if you told her yours… _ Her words echoed through his head for the remainder of the ceremony. No one spoke to him and Riddle never showed back up. The Slytherins parted on somewhat stifled, uncomfortable terms while the cheerful air on the other side of the Hall was more prominent. Alphard hoped he could give a proper goodbye to Ignatius, but he was unlikely to get a chance between now and the departure from the Hogwarts Express. 

Later, after the families had finally left, Alphard entered the empty dormitory—the other boys were setting up a party in the common room—and sat at his desk, pulling out the unfinished letter. He’d been deep in preponderance, so he had an idea of what to write. How to word it was another hurdle. Eventually, he decided to simply touch the quill to the parchment and keep it moving. 

_ Rather than ask you to give me a chance, I am going to give you something, which is my word. I understand why you can’t believe me when I tell you I will take care of you. I wouldn’t believe that either, and I have never been in your position. How can you trust me when we’ve nearly lost touch? _

_ I joined the DA not because Antonia Longbottom harassed me into it, or even to get closer to you/ I joined it for me—my own beliefs. I truly believe Dumbledore being out of Nurmengard will change things for the better. I’ve told you that out loud and I write it now, willing to catch hell for it. I was challenged to stand up to the Regime and I bowed out like a coward. I can’t redact this. All I can do is act stronger going forth.  _

_ I am worried for you, Mel. I fear you have been seduced by the Dark Arts. This is nothing to be ashamed of, since they are very seductive, I’d say so myself, especially under the instruction of Tom Riddle. But this is not you. You are full of love and light. Your years have not passed easily, but that doesn’t mean you shine any less. I love you no less than the day I fell in love with you, that cold, windy day by the Black Lake.  _

_ I only hope you will come to me eventually. Enjoy your summer.  _

_Love always,_  
_Alphard_

Knowing he would overthink it, Alphard rolled up the scroll without proofreading, debating his options. He could mail it or he could give it to her now. The latter would ensure she received it but keep the Regime out of his affairs. His parents would surely disown him for his statements and he was not quite ready for that yet. Only if Mel was his for sure would he risk that. 

Having landed on a decision, he folded up the parchment, slid it into an envelope, sealed it right away, and wrote her name on it. Tucking it into his robes, he left the dormitory, creeping along the periphery of the common room. His watch read 9:10. Still early enough to find her. 

~

As soon as the ceremony had ended, her parents had left, and Mel had hustled the younger-years back to the common room, she left Ravenclaw Tower with a destination in mind. 

The Astronomy Tower was silent. The students were out of the corridors, starting in on the last party of the year or packing. Mel had no interest in partaking in festivities, and she didn’t want to pack, for that meant she was officially leaving Hogwarts. She was not ready to accept that yet. 

Once she was in the small corridor under the entrance to the attic, a circle of the ceiling disappeared and a ladder extended downward. She climbed up into the vast, silent space. The sun was setting but the air was still burning hot. Rather than take a seat in the same spot as last time, she selected another chintz cushion in a spot bathed in golden sunlight. 

There she sat, gazing off into space with her lower lip held loosely between her teeth. Dumbledore was out of Nurmengard and he was coming back to England. The words sounded funny even in her head. 

“Don’t hope.” It came out steady, with conviction. 

Dumbledore could be defeated again. Grindelwald could kill him this time. Unlikely, an oddly pleasant voice answered in her head. If Dumbledore was powerful enough to send his magic across thousands of miles, he was powerful enough to defeat Grindelwald. 

“Don’t hope.” This time, there were holes in her voice, uncertainty leaking out. Then, before she could grasp it, her brain flew away into the whirlwind of her imagination. It was 1948, Grindelwald was gone, Dumbledore back in the Wizengamot or back at Hogwarts, the muggles returned back to their families...

Her stomach twisted and her cheeks were wet with tears. She hadn’t realised she was crying. A knock on the door, Auntie Bertha standing in the doorway, in the bed next to hers, grumbling about rising at four-thirty, hands brushing through Mel’s curls, rough but taking care not to hurt her...

“Don’t hope.” It was a whisper now, immediately sucked up by the sweltering air. The light was dimming by the second, but Mel was too immersed in the tears, the hope fighting its way through her chest.  

“No…” Hope was too dangerous. She couldn’t risk breaking apart now. 

To keep her mind away from that, she thought of Walden. She hadn’t an idea what to feel toward him. Perhaps hope, but for what outcome? She wanted him back home, back to being her brother again, but that was impossible. The well-known members of the Magic Army would be facing a bit of trouble upon Dumbledore’s return. That meant Azkaban for Walden and Mel couldn’t think of an argument for why he shouldn’t be sent there. Perhaps he had enough to go into hiding, but he would not come around to the light that way. 

She shook her head as if her ideas would fly out of her ears, clearing her mind. What was meant for Walden would come to him, regardless of her wishes for him. The only thing she truly wished for was that her life would revert back to the way it was before the Depression and early stages of the wars. In her memories, her limbs were cold and her stomach hollow, but her family was together. “Life is unpredictable and harder than easy,” Auntie Bertha had told her and Walden, though it had seemed like the five of them could get through anything together. 

However, that was not the case. She needed to repeat that until she believed it. For now, Dumbledore out of Nurmengard was enough to bring hope, and hope she did, even as the sky turned black and she left the attic for the last time. 

Her watch read half-past nine, past curfew. The prefects would be starting their last rounds, so Mel had to hurry. Sure enough, once she got around the first bend, Beatrice Winter turned from up ahead and spotted her. 

“I know it’s after curfew,” Mel told her once she’d caught up. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Beatrice responded, waving a hand in dismissal. “Not like I can give you detention anyhow.” They walked down the corridor together. “Say, Alphard was looking for you earlier.” 

“Was he?” Mel asked. “Do you know where he is now?”  

Beatrice shrugged, nodding to the stairwell as they passed it. “When I saw him last, he was headed down to the first floor.” 

“Hmm, maybe I can catch him,” Mel mused out loud, pausing. 

“Perhaps,” said Beatrice over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get to Gryffindor common room, make sure they’re not wreaking havoc over there. See you tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp.” 

Mel hummed in reply and descended the stairwell. On the way to the first floor, she passed students of all years taking their last strolls around the castle; evidently curfew was not being enforced on anyone. None of the students were who she was looking for. Alphard was nowhere to be found, and she had to at least start packing her trunk. 

Near the dungeons, Murdoch and Yaxley were milling about, deterring her from going any further. Though it did not escape her notice that the pair of blokes looked somewhat deflated. Without the Regime, they had to form a new plan to keep the purebloods in power. Mel had not an ounce of sympathy. 

She was hoping to find Harper, but she suspected the other was avoiding the Slytherin boys as well. Swivelling around to the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, she wondered what Alphard wanted with her. To say goodbye, she supposed, but there was time on the Hogwarts Express for that. 

On the curved wall leading to the main staircase to the second floor, the tapestry of prefects caught her eye.  _ Hogwarts’ exemplary, nineteen forty-seven, _ read the gold-plated script above the photographs of Alphard and Beatrice. She and Henry Higgins were at the top of the Ravenclaw column. Gryffindor had only one, Ignatius Prewett, since Beatrice had been moved up. 

The Slytherins also had one, Harper’s fifth-year face staring blankly out of the frame. Soon the seventh-year row would be replaced with the pictures below, off the wall, no longer in attendance. This overt reminder of the end of her education splayed out in front of her gave it a surreal quality. She had completed Hogwarts, despite it all. 

Her eyes, slightly misty, raised back up to Alphard’s portrait. A surge of love and longing flowed through her blood into her heart. His handsome face would not be taken out of the frame and filed away somewhere but moved to the Hall of Heads on the fifth floor. 

She imagined a world where she and Alphard could pursue whatever it was they had between each other. But that, too, was impossible, hope for that just as futile. Better that we depart with minimal interaction, she told herself. It was good that she hadn’t found him. 

On her way back to the third floor, she pushed him out of her mind to take in the familiar corridors one last time. One week ago, the thought of leaving the castle and facing the world outside was unbearable, but now a tiny ray of hope peeked through a crack in her armor. 

~

_ Dear Miss Messier,  _

_The Healer Training Program at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is pleased to offer you a place to start on the first of September 1947. Based on your academic records from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we believe you have what it takes to be a successful candidate. Your acceptance is contingent on NEWTs from the following disciplines: Potions, Alchemy, Herbology, Charms, and Arithmancy._  

 _Please send us your acceptance into the program alongside the required NEWT scores by the 15th of July. We look forward to guiding you through the wonderfully complex world of Healing._  

 _Kindest regards,_  
_Evgenia Samusenko_  
_Senior Healer_

Harper had read the letter so many times since receiving it two days prior, she could probably recite it from memory. She’d done it. She’d gotten into St. Mungo’s.

So had Annie, but unfortunately to the patient side after another episode. Though Harper knew she could not treat her, at least she could keep an eye on her. Another episode had been inevitable at Number 18. Annie would have a better chance at recovery away from their parents.  

After another fond gaze, Harper folded up the letter, slid it carefully inside the envelope, and tucked it inside her mind magic notes. She lifted a pile of her clothing in her trunk and stuck them in between her cloak and dress robes. Once the lid of the trunk swung down, she was done packing. 

There was one possession, however, that would not make it into the trunk. That was because it was no longer her possession. It now, according to her vow, belonged to Riddle. 

The bubble of elation in her chest was consumed by a wave of dread. She hadn’t an idea the probability of him Obliviating her. She liked to believe he wouldn’t, but that seemed too hopeful.  

Perhaps he’d take so little she wouldn’t even miss it, she thought, lifting her mattress and sliding her hand under the worn leather book. Perhaps he’d take only the information about him and leave the rest in her head. 

Or perhaps he’d take no chances and wipe out the entire book, she thought as she held it to her chest, walking further down the dungeons. Perhaps he’d overshoot it and erase more than intended, like this whole year, or her Hogwarts career, or her entire life. Enough to make her useless in Healer Training. 

She swallowed hard, her mouth and throat bone-dry, and clutched the book tighter to her chest. No, Riddle was skilled enough to take only what he intended to take. The problem was, as usual, she had no idea of his intentions. 

By the time she reached the Defense room, the dread had taken hold. Her chest felt as heavy as the door, which took all of her strength to open. Despite her jelly limbs, her nerves were humming with energy, heart pounding rapidly. 

Riddle was seated at his desk, organising papers. He watched her approach with no expression on his face. “Good evening, Miss Messier.” 

She nodded in greeting, knowing her voicebox wasn’t functioning. Stopping in front of the desk, she stood rigid, hugging the book to her, unable to speak. 

Riddle looked at her for another second before glancing down at the pile of papers in front of him. “To what do I owe the pleasure so late in the evening?” He raised his eyes again, surveying her with a mischievous smirk. “Come for a repeat of last night, have you?”

Harper blushed and looked away. “No, sir.” He was referring to less than twenty-four hours ago when she’d responded to his request for her. Upon her arrival, he’d locked his office door and they’d had a sexual encounter so intense, she’d fallen asleep as soon she’d gotten to her dormitory and slept all through breakfast this morning. Due to the ceremony and rounds, she’d only had the previous hour to pack away the entire year in her trunk. 

Her professor—former professor—was watching her expectantly. His eyes fell on the book but he didn’t ask for it. An absurd sequence of events played out in her mind: clutching the book tighter, turning and bolting out with it, the vow be damned, avoiding Riddle until she was safely on the train…

A searing jolt in her right hand reminded her how unlikely it was that she’d be able to evade this with her mind and the book intact. Slowly, she brought it down and set it on the desk. Fighting the urge to snatch it back up, she cleared her throat and said, “Here you are, sir, complete as promised.” 

No doubt sensing her urge, Riddle placed his hand on the top of the book and slid it toward him. “Thank you, Miss Messier.”

He collected the book along with a stack of papers and stood up. She flinched, eyes on the pocket in which he usually had his wand tucked, but he didn’t make a move toward it. 

“I suppose I owe you,” he told her, “for all your hard work.”

Harper only half-heard him, concentrating hard on his hands, willing them to stay put as if she could create a force-field between them and that pocket. Because of this, her words came out unfiltered by her conscience. “You don’t, sir. You have taught me more than enough this year, more about myself and magic than I would have learned otherwise.”

This got his complete attention; about to turn away, he paused and locked eyes with her. “I’m glad to hear it.” The words sounded sincere, but she caught herself before believing him. He was the master of deception, but for what, at this point, did he have to deceive her?

The side of his mouth lifted and he held up his hand in a casual wave. Harper stopped herself from flinching again despite the jolt to all of her muscles. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, walking toward his office, “I must finish packing.”

“You’re leaving?” she blurted, forgetting the immediate threat for the moment. “For good?” 

He shrugged, standing in the doorway to his office, which from what she could see of it, looked empty. “For the foreseeable future. I’m going on sabbatical, you could say, indefinitely.” 

She nodded, briefly wondering if his departure merely coincided with Dumbledore’s potential return. 

“Good luck in Healer Training, Harper.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, leaving her standing there in consternation. Was he going to Obliviate her, or…?  

She pictured him throwing open the door, pointing his wand at her, the shout of the incantation, a flash of white light bursting straight through her skin and skull to her brain… 

The door did open, causing her to jerk violently backward, her hand flying to her robes for her own wand on instinct. But Riddle simply poked his head out and asked, “Is there something else you need, dear?” 

He knew he was toying with her, that she was on top of an emotional cliff ready to be pushed off. She wished he would just get on with it, but he didn’t move. 

“N-no, sir,” she said at last, unaware of retreating backward until her rear hit one of the tables. “Good luck to you, too.” 

She turned and strode down the aisle, feeling his eyes on her back. More than half of her was expecting the charm any second, but it did not come. The door to the classroom swung shut behind her and still it did not come. 

Once in the corridor, she upped her pace to a trot, trying to get away from the Defense room quicker. Halfway down the corridor, she broke into a run, bursting through the Entrance Hall and out of the castle. 

The grounds were empty, since it was well after curfew. The night sky and full moon dimmed everything down to black and silver. It was quiet and still, save for a warm breeze pushing the soft hairs that had gotten loose from the ribbon off Harper’s face. Only the sound of her heavy breaths filled her ears as she continued down to the lake. If she stopped, he would catch her...but he was not coming. 

She felt tears pouring down her cheeks and wiped them away. That didn’t stop more from flowing, but these tears were lighter, less viscous than the ones she’d been crying only hours prior during the Farewell Ceremony. 

Those had been sour with misery and tension, anticipating her final meeting with Riddle. And, as she told Alphard, her sorrow over leaving the castle, considering Hogwarts her one true home. Much like Riddle had—Riddle, who was evidently not going to Obliviate her. These tears, she deduced, were sweetened by relief. 

~

As expected, Dippet wasn’t happy to hear that his closest advisor and most brilliant staff member was resigning. “This is only temporary,” Tom assured him, the sliver of truth wrapped in pleasant lies. “Quest for knowledge of magic across the world” sounded much more virtuous than “treasure hunt for immortality.” 

Dippet had, of course, agreed and told him he would have a position at Hogwarts if he so desired. “But at least we will have a brilliant wizard in this castle yet,” he said brightly, “upon Dumbledore’s return!” 

Later, sitting on the armchair in his bedchamber, Tom grimaced at the recollection. No matter—one day he would succeed where Grindelwald had failed. 

For now, though, the castle had to be left. Tomorrow, when all the brats were on the Hogwarts Express, he would take one long last walk around. Not only to verify the points on Murdoch’s map, but as one last farewell. Pity the map wouldn’t be put to use right away.  

Nearly everything was packed, an endeavor that hadn’t taken very long, since he hadn’t acquired many possessions. He was done not thirty minutes after Messier left. 

He stood, eyes on the leather-bound book on the desk. Once Messier’s, now his. In fact, now that he’d thought of it, that was the only valuable possession he’d acquired during his teaching years. He hadn’t bothered to check if it was complete; he’d know if she deceived him. Nevertheless, he picked it up and flicked through it. 

All students and staff seemed to be accounted for. The newer entries were marked by slightly more sophisticated handwriting, refined from seven full years of note-taking. For the hell of it, Tom went to the R section, even though there hadn’t been much to be added to his. Or so he thought. 

To his surprise, the last page of his section was in the newer writing, the parchment slightly fresher. She’d added a page about him: 

_ 17/06/47—Obliviates H. Messier, or not.  _

_ 12/06/47—’Dark Assignments’ help 7th year students reach magical potential despite fear and doubt.  _

_ 10/06/47—Seen as the most skilled professor at Hogwarts, “surpassing Dumbledore,” (I. Prewett 09/06/47) primary authority in the castle. _

_ 03/06/47—Leader of Knights, radical blood purists (see: Yaxley, Icarus) “The Dark Lord,” sees self as more powerful than GR, uses it to recruit.  _

_ 29/04/47—Feels ill sentiment toward parents, particularly mother running off with muggle, scorns her, angry with her for leaving him in orphanage. “Love is for the weak.” Likely angry at father for also leaving despite non-magic, not fond of family in general except Slytherin.  _

_ 13/03/47—Memories tainted with midnight blue, fear, particularly of death (as per boggart), frequent explosions near orphanage exacerbating grim tone to all memories of upbringing. One exception: manor house, countryside, age 16(?), also triumph/excitement, significance unknown.  _

_ 05/10/46—Gives 7th-year class ‘Dark Assignments’ including Un. curses, motive unclear. Class opinion divided: “off his rocker” (I. Prewett 05/10/46) or “helping unlock ability” (F. Murdoch 05/10/46). _

_ 12/09/46—Newly appointed Head of Slytherin House. _

“That little bitch,” Tom whispered out loud, shaking his head. He hadn’t an ounce of anger toward her; on the contrary, he was a bit impressed. Little wonder she wouldn’t succumb to his charm—she had a covert mission of her own, to study him. She’d written candidly of it, expecting to be Obliviated. Hell, he should have Obliviated her; it was beyond him why he hadn’t. It was fun enough, he supposed, holding it over her head all this time. 

Shaking his head once more, Tom retreated to the armchair, book in hand, and took a seat. He leafed through it again, looking for the M section. She hadn’t vowed to add herself, and he couldn’t put it past the sneaky little thing to work that out and omit it. However, she was true to her word:

_Messier, Harpalyke Callisto_  
_11 April 1929, pureblood_  
_Number 18 Grimmauld Place, London_  
_Boggart: sensory deprivation_  
_Family: Charles Messier (father, half-blood), Euporie Selwyn (mother, pureblood, Slytherin descendant), Ananke (sister)._

_ Harpalyke “Harper” Messier is a Slytherin prefect, referred to sometimes as the “mother hen” of House due to being only 7th-year witch. Father Head of Treasury, mother homemaker, sister in St. Mungo’s with “hysteria.” Family proud of lineage, abides rigidly to pureblood values. Starts 7th year with intention of helping sister in hospital (see: Messier, Ananke) with mental sickness, considers entering Healer Training at St. Mungo’s, adjusts schedule accordingly with the addition of Alchemy. Neutral to GR.  _

_ 17/06/47—Obliviated by T. Riddle, or not.  _

_ 15/06/47—Accepted into Healer Training.  _

_ 12/06/47—Receives full marks on Dark assignment, proud, for top Defense marks not easy to earn.  _

_ 03/01/47—Applies to Healer Training with letters from H. Slughorn and P. Myriad (Potions and Alchemy, respectively).  _

For the briefest of moments, Tom allowed a scenario to play out in his head, the trajectory of what could have been: he, as headmaster of Hogwarts, leader of the ruling class, God disguised as human. He was even willing to go along with the Regime’s idiotic marriage plan and take a pureblood wife, specifically Harper Messier, though that would’ve required more effort. And he would’ve had control of the castle at the very least. 

A taste formed in his mouth akin to the leftover juice of an orange. He’d enjoyed them as a boy, but they reminded him of the hyenas at Wool’s, the scavenging, the hunger. Thus, the sweetness of the fruit was sour to him. He would miss Hogwarts, he could admit to himself. In his throat, there was an absurd, aggravating lump that would not be swallowed down. 

Enough of this sentimental rubbish, he scolded himself, finally snapping back to reality. He stood, slamming Messier’s book shut and tossing it into his open trunk. The map he’d deal with later; he didn’t want to risk the weakness returning just yet. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d be away forever. He had his entire, never-ending life to return. Only he could. Dumbledore would be long dead, hopefully by his hand. Messier would grow old and wither into dust, her soul ascending from Earth. Even Hogwarts might no longer teach and house young wizards. Perhaps the wizarding world would be destroyed by muggles, as muggles loved to destroy everything in their vicinity. 

Regardless, it was Tom who would outlive it all, reign over all. Lord Voldemort would make plenty of enemies, none of which could ever defeat him. No one could. 

These thoughts abated the lump in his throat, but it wasn’t gone completely. For a distraction, he took out the map of Albania and unrolled it. That did not help, and so, frustrated and annoyed with himself, he went to bed. 


	21. Epilogue, 1951

Mel rose at seven as usual to fix a pot of tea and a piece of toast. After that, she sat in her spot near the window. It was high above her head, but she could still hear the birds. Spring was no longer wavering, blessing London with a full week of sunshine. 

Mum and Dad were both at work, so the flat was quiet. At half-past, Mel was joined by Auntie Bertha, who was on medical leave after twisting her ankle at the factory. The pair rarely spoke, but Mel was pleased to be in the presence of her aunt. Auntie Bertha was calm, only speaking when necessary. She’d assured the McCreadys that her memory had returned entirely, so Mel couldn’t work out where she’d gotten this new personality. Nevertheless, there were traces of her old self, especially when she was agitated. 

As for Walden, he was in Azkaban, so he would not be joining them at the table anytime soon. 

Mel sipped from her cup of earl grey and rehearsed all of her tasks for the day. Being one of the four secretaries in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, her days often felt like one giant stack of paperwork. However, she worked alongside a bouncy, cheerful witch straight out of Hogwarts who liked to share jokes and stories from the castle, helping pass the time with chuckles. 

There was a tapping on the window, snapping Mel back to reality. As Auntie Bertha looked on, she stood and accepted a newspaper from Dad’s owl. 

“I wonder what’s going on in the world today,” she mused as she moved her plate out of the way and opened The Daily Prophet. 

Auntie Bertha hummed noncommittally, none too keen on finding out what was going on in the wizarding world. Mel suspected she was wary of it, untrusting. 

The top story was the verdict of the McElroy case—guilty and sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban, the outcome Mel had been hoping for. Let that Grindelwald-lover rot, she thought, turning to the next page, where very familiar dark eyes met her own. A photo of a bashful-looking Harper was under a headline titled TRAINEE HEALER BREAKTHROUGH. 

Flattening the paper against the table, Mel dove into the article:

_ London, 30 May 1951—St. Mungo’s Hospital will begin employing a new treatment to those afflicted with damage to the brain whether naturally-occurring or through magical means. The treatment, tentatively known as ‘mind-mapping,’ was created by a Trainee Healer by the name of Harpalyke Messier and developed with the help of Senior Healer Evgenia Samusenko. It combines the use of an old branch of magic called Legilimency and discussing openly the findings with patients.  _

_ “Legilimency was labeled as a Dark spell due to the prevalence of misuse,” says Miss Messier, 22, when asked from where she took the idea. “It’s a powerful way into the depths of the mind and I thought, what if it could be used for good?” _

_ After many trials and express permission from the Ministry of Magic, Healer Samusenko is set to begin memory-mapping in practice later this week. Miss Messier is preparing to finish Healer Training this September.  _

Mel looked at the picture again. Underneath the shyness and the still expression, she could make out the faintest spark of pride in her best friend’s eyes. She grinned from ear to ear, heart lifted in joy and admiration. If anyone deserved recognition for altruism, it was Harper Messier. 

“Auntie, look,” she said, voice high with excitement. “Harper’s made the news!” 

“Huh? Let me see.” 

She slid the paper across the table, and Auntie Bertha squinted down at it. After several minutes—she didn’t read too well in English—her face melted into a smile matching Mel’s. “Ah, excellent! Bright girl. We must send her our sincerest congratulations.” 

Mel nodded. “I think I’ll send her those origami birds. Last time I sent her robins, but perhaps I’ll spring for the doves this time.”

“Let me pitch in,” said Auntie Bertha at once. “Fetch my handbag on the coat stand there.” 

“It’s alright, Auntie, I’ve got it.” Mel shook her head and smiled. During her Hogwarts years, Auntie Bertha hadn’t cared for Harper too much, dismissing her as a privileged highbrow. That was until June of 1947, when Harper had found her and removed the Ministry’s memory charm. For that, there was no origami arrangement sufficient enough to express Mel’s gratitude. 

After Grindelwald had been locked away in Nurmengard, the wizarding families were discouraged from finding their muggle relatives, since they hadn’t been tracked after their memories were altered and bodies transported somewhere else. Mel and her parents added Auntie Bertha’s name to the list to be tracked down by the Ministry, but they had resigned themselves to simply keeping her in their own memories until one day she was back on Meeker Street, weeping with joy at the sight of them. 

Blinking away the sudden mist forming over her eyes, Mel stood and took their teacups to the sink and rinsed them. She could tell her aunt was recalling the same incident, for they exchanged warm grins. “Until this evening, Auntie,” Mel told her before slipping her purse over her shoulder and feet into high heels. 

She took a detour through Diagon Alley to one of the last shops, a nondescript pink building with a red and white sign reading CATRINE’S CREATIONS.  

“Good morning, dear,” said old Catrine when she walked in. “How can I help you?” 

Frantic, somewhat distracting paper birds and butterflies whizzed above Mel’s head. An old fan was swaying nearby, blowing warm, fragrant air. 

“I’d like to send a congratulations, please,” she said to Catrine after a look around. Shelves of paper flowers in every shade of color imaginable surrounded her. 

“Alright, then. Birds, flowers, something else?” 

“Birds, please,” Mel answered. “Doves, if you’ve got them.” 

“Alright, then,” Catrine repeated, her knobby fingers busy folding parchment tinted in blotches of blue and pink, forming a bright purple where they overlapped.  

Mel watched her patiently before asking, “How much will it be, then?” 

“Eighteen galleons, please.” 

It was more than Mel anticipated, but she handed over the money without hesitation. After filling out the record, printing Harper’s name, address, and the McCreadys’ message, she went back outside. 

A warm breeze blew her curls off her shoulders as she headed to the Ministry. The sun shone down on her hat, warming her scalp. Her mouth was quirked up, her eyes surveying the hustle on the streets. Since it was nearing nine, there was a harried tinge to the atmosphere, but the sun had a way of lightening the footsteps. The 1950s were starting off kind, batting away the heavy fog of the ‘40s. Good spirits were prevalent. 

Mel’s own footsteps were full of pep, her shoulders relaxed. The morning was good; perhaps the rest of the day would be, too. Maybe if she was particularly lucky, she’d run into Alphard at the Ministry, since he collected the weekly reports from all the departments. At the very least, she’d be happy catching a glimpse of him. 

~  

Olga brought two items to Aphard’s kitchen table. The first, The Daily Prophet, he’d been expecting, but the other was a plain white envelope with black letters stamped upon it. CYGNUS, they spelled. 

At first, Alphard set it aside to drink his tea and read the newspaper. Once he was through with that, he set down his cup, stood, and picked up the envelope, ready to give it to his sleeping brother. It was time to rouse him for work anyway. 

But Alphard found that, for a reason unknown, he could not move. He stood rigid, turning the envelope over in his hands. A layer of dread coated his lungs, kicking up his heart. What on Earth was it about this plain envelope that was bringing up feelings he hadn’t experienced since ‘47? Perhaps because he’d just read the news about his former classmate he hadn’t seen since then. But that was good news, nothing to warrant this dread. 

Stop it, he scolded himself, that’s all over now. He willed his feet to carry him down the short hallway to his guest bedroom, his brother being the most frequent guest. 

As expected, Cygnus was sprawled on the bed face-down, deep in dream-land. Alphard hated waking him, for he was always a sour, insufferable arse in the mornings. Cygnus was rarely in a good mood to start; he showed up at Alphard’s, usually unannounced, when he couldn’t find a girl to bring to Aphrodite’s Lounge and Hotel to spend the night. Druella had just given birth to a daughter and, according to Cygnus, “both scream day and night like bloody banshees,” thus into the arms of a willing witch he ran. Alphard learned to simply let his brother shut himself in the spare room and leave him alone. 

“Cygnus.” He shook his shoulder until the elder rolled over, grumbling and rubbing his eyes. 

“What is it?” he muttered, sitting up and looking around. Disappointment crossed his face when he saw that he was in Alphard’s flat and not next to a naked witch. The scent of rancid firewhiskey assaulted Alphard’s nostrils. 

“Come on, it’s half-eight,” he prompted. “Here, Olga brought this.” He flung the envelope into Cygnus’ lap and left the room. 

After clearing up the breakfast mess, Alphard decided to get going to the Ministry on his own, since Cygnus apparently planned to sit in the bath for the next hour. However, once he arrived in the Atrium, his brother caught up with him, doused in Parisian cologne with eyes only slightly tinged red.

“I won’t be needing your bedroom tonight, brother,” he told Alphard, mood exponentially lifted. “So you can go on and invite a witch over.” He winked and continued before Alphard could think of a reply. “I’ve got an important meeting that’s likely to keep me.”  

“Er...alright,” Alphard said slowly, but Cygnus was already trotting ahead, calling to someone in the Wizengamot. 

The Atrium was bustling with wizards swinging briefcases and taking harried footsteps in all directions. Alphard was caught in the mob headed toward the lifts, nodding to an acquaintance here and there. 

The first three lifts were instantly filled well above capacity, so he waited for the fourth, thinking of his brother’s words, his excitement about this “meeting.” What was so special about it? Cygnus had never expressed such enthusiasm over a witch before. A prickling in his stomach nagged him about that envelope. No doubt the sender was who Cygnus was going to meet with this evening.  

“So what of it, then?” he muttered to himself as the lift finally arrived and swung open the gate. 

Despite logic telling him Cygnus’ affairs were none of his concern, the prickling persisted until a bright voice said from behind him, “Hello, Alphard!” 

He turned and the layer of dread in his chest abated as his eyes fell on the gorgeous blonde witch standing behind him. “Hello, Mel. What a pleasure to see you again so soon.” 

She smiled, showing her teeth. A warm flush crept to Alphard’s neck. “Indeed. I should pick this lift more often. I usually go for the right one, see.” 

He could only nod dumbly. They’d seen each other not two weeks ago, but she’d been on the other side of the lift with about 30 people in between them. Her close proximity was stealing some of the air from his head. 

“Have you read the paper?” she asked, grinning broadly now. “Harper’s invented some sort of mind-trick!” 

Alphard chuckled, feeling slightly drunk. “Yes, I’ve read it. I’ve known since our Hogwarts days she would do something magnificent.”

Mel was positively beaming at him now. “I’m so proud of her! I sent her a congratulations, but perhaps I’ll invite her to tea one of these days—oh, here’s my floor. See you around, Alphard! Pardon me…”  

She made her way through the others and out of the lift. Alphard watched her go, stopping his arm from reaching out and his mouth from opening to ask her to wait. He wanted more of her, but he knew she was not ready yet. Her family was still recovering from the previous decade and she wished to be there with them.  

He’d take what he could get. Just that brief encounter with her was enough to lift his spirit as he entered the seventh floor. He had a mountain of paperwork on his desk and at least five meetings to coordinate for the Minister, but he’d get through it gladly if he could keep her smiling face and lilting voice in his head all day. 

Hopefully one day he’d see that face every day, waking up in bed in the morning, after work, out on the town, or simply over tea. Alphard would wait patiently for that. 

For now, he would settle for a brief encounter in the lift here and there, as long as she smiled and greeted him with the cheer she still held onto, despite it all. 

~ 

Three o’clock after six hours of training and Harper’s day was only half over. She had a shift this evening in the medicinal potions lab and a stack of protocol sheets waiting for her second arrival home late this evening. 

She noticed on her walk down Diagon Alley that she was receiving more looks than usual. Her lime-green St. Mungo’s robes sure helped, but many were recognising her face from the morning paper. A block away from her building, she bumped into Beatrice Bones, formerly Winter. “Congratulations, Harper!” she cried, throwing her arms around her.  

“Thank you, Beatrice,” Harper replied, patting her on the back before pulling away. “How are you and yours?”  

“Just wonderful! Gerald is speaking in sentences now. Oh, the things he puts together! And Michael’s at the Ministry all the time, you know how it goes. Say, you should come round sometime! We live on Gemstone Alley.” She pointed down a tiny street around the corner. 

Harper privately doubted she’d ever find the time to visit Beatrice or anyone else, really, but she nodded anyway. “That would be swell.” 

“Too right. I’ve got to run! Goodbye, Harper!” 

“Goodbye.” Harper pulled out her keys and went to her building. She lived on the top floor in the only flat she could find with two bedrooms—one for her, one for Annie. The Selwyn inheritance, along with Harper’s wages from the potion lab, paid for the flat and Annie’s day-companion. 

When she entered the flat, she was greeted with silence. “Annie?” she called, turning toward the far bedroom. As soon as she took a step forward, something white on the kitchen counter broke apart and burst into a flutter of wings. She let out a gasp, dropping her bag on the floor as she instinctively shielded herself from the unknown. 

Slowly, Harper lowered her arms and looked up. The white mass turned out to be a flock of doves flying overhead. A pair of them held a white ribbon, holding it between their beaks as they flew in opposite directions. When they were about three feet apart, the ribbon morphed into a silken banner, dropping open. CONGRATULATIONS, HARPER, it read in silver script, LOVE, THE MCCREADYS. 

Harper grinned, heart filling, as the banner broke apart and rolled into silk flowers, growing stems and gathering into a bouquet. The doves carried it to a crystal vase on the fireplace mantel before flying out of the kitchen window. 

Still smiling, Harper inspected the flowers, bringing them into the kitchen. On the way there, she spotted an envelope on the tiled floor with her name on it. The doves must’ve left it behind, for she recognised the script as Mel’s. 

She tore it open and pulled out a short letter:

_ Dear Harper,  _

_ Congratulations on your mind-trick! It’s truly brilliant. I’m so proud of you! So are my parents and Auntie Bertha; they send their well wishes. I can’t think of anyone who deserves success more than you.  _

_ Love always, _

_ Mel  _

Her last sentence tightened around Harper’s heart. She wondered if she really did deserve it, for she’d kept the memory charm on Mel intact for all these years. Many hours of sleep were lost in debate as to whether she should lift it or not. 

In the end, Harper decided that not only would it be safer for Mel not to remember the behavior book, it would be better. Those years had been hard enough for her best friend; she did not need to relive them. Harper was half-satisfied with her choice but sometimes, like right now, she questioned if it was the right one. According to the St. Mungo’s code of ethics, a wizard had the right to access their full mind, but Healer Samusenko emphasised that moral decisions didn’t always have a clear answer. 

Thus, Harper had done the next-best thing she could think of, which was to track down Mel’s Aunt Bertha and lift that charm so she could remember and return to Meeker Street. 

Shortly into 1948, after Grindelwald’s defeat, order had been restored and many of the decrees rescinded. The Minister, Leonard Spencer-Moon, warned the relatives from which the muggles were removed that it might be impossible to restore their families to the way they were prior to the Regime. The muggles had been strongly Obliviated and sent to the countryside as laborers for wealthier muggle families. 

Spencer-Moon urged their wizarding relatives to think hard before adding their names to the list of memory charm reversals. The lists led to a lengthy process rife with hurdles and resistance; it often took months just to find the muggle. Shortly after finding out the McCreadys had placed Bertha on the list, Harper went out to accelerate the process. 

She’d found her on a farm in a quaint town some 100 kilometers away from London. Bertha had seemed happy enough, but Harper had bore witness to how much Bertha cared for the other McCreadys. If she’d ever found out they’d existed without her, missing her all this time… Well, it wasn’t fair. 

It had taken quite a bit to break the charm and even longer for it to fully dissipate. Bertha had, understandably, expressed some doubt, but Harper had managed to coax her on a London-bound train. As the train glided through the fields, more and more of Bertha’s memory came back until she recognised the girl sitting beside her, and believed her. There had been a lot of crying that day from both Bertha and Harper. 

Recalling it now, Harper’s eyes stung as she set the letter on the kitchen counter. To abate the tears, she picked up her bag and pulled out The Daily Prophet. There she was, her development spelled out around her for all of Magical Britain to see. It was surreal, to put it simply. 

She checked her watch—half-past. Her shift started at five, but she had to prepare supper and get Annie to the fourth floor for treatment before then. Where was Annie, anyway? She’d never leave the flat on her own. 

Harper found her in her room reading, apparently ignorant of the orchestration in the kitchen. “Hello there, my prodigious sister,” Annie teased, looking up. 

“Mm-hmm. Have you eaten?” 

“Camille brought me some treacle tarts earlier,” Annie told her, placing a bookmark between the pages of a thick text and setting it on the table. “But I ought to eat before treatment, yes?” 

“I suppose.” Harper had eaten a late, heavy platter for tea, but she fixed up a light supper for two. After they ate, they changed into their respective robes and headed out. 

Diagon Alley was much busier now, since more and more wizards were released from work. On instinct, Harper took Annie’s hand as they waded through the masses. Thankfully, by Florean and Fortescue’s, the crowd died down a bit, allowing the pair of witches to stroll idly. They had at least 45 minutes to get to St. Mungo’s, more than enough time. 

She was still noticing quite a few glances her way, more than before. Normally, the Healer robes and Annie by her side caught enough attention as it was, but now her face from the newspaper added to the pull of interest. Fighting hard to keep her back straight and eyes ahead, she felt her cheeks flushing; she never did like to be the center of attention. She reminded herself how she got in the news and let a wave of pride ripple through.

“I can’t believe I’ll be Healer Messier soon,” she mused out loud. September seemed so far away, but it was only a few months more. Of course, there was still the heavy round of exams to get through in August. 

“And Healer Murdoch shortly thereafter,” Annie pointed out, eyeing the emerald ring on Harper’s hand. 

Harper immediately let go of her sister and clutched the ring. She’d forgotten to take it off. Aside from wanting to prevent it from any harm in the lab, she also felt a bit callous wearing it in front of Annie. She glanced at her sister, but Annie was looking the other way, seemingly unbothered. She’d taken the news gracefully when Felix had proposed in December, but her behavior after had slightly wavered. Now she had adjusted, hopefully. 

It was odd for Harper to think of herself as Healer Murdoch, but she’d also get used to that, she supposed. With Felix rising to his father’s place in the Floo Network and she in St. Mungo’s, they had potential to become quite the pair. 

“Harper,” Annie said suddenly, her voice high-pitched and hesitant. “I think…” 

Harper clasped her sister’s hand again. “Are you alright?” 

Annie nodded, thinking hard. Harper searched for traces of madness in her eyes, not spotting any. “I think...I want to try going on my own today.”

“Oh!” Harper blurted in surprise. This was new; Annie refused to go anywhere without her sister or the day-companion. “That’s a great idea, but...are you sure?” 

“I reckon,” Annie replied uncertainly. “I’ve got to try eventually, right? Might as well be now.” She nodded as if convincing herself. 

“Well, I fancy a spot of tea,” Harper told her, “so I’ll be over there if you...need to come back.” She pointed across the way to a small shop called Tildy’s Tea and Treats, which sold expensive but delicious tea in all flavours. 

Annie nodded and turned away. Harper watched her back disappear into the Leaky Cauldron, filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension. It was far too early to hope for Annie’s independence, but this was a giant first step. 

She walked toward Tildy’s, lost in thought. What an exciting day it had been so far. Was Annie truly ready for the London streets? Now, though, the pressing question was what kind of tea Harper should treat herself to. The selection included green with vanilla, earl grey with a hint of raspberry, or she could stick with green but with lavender—

“Hello there, Harper,” said a familiar voice behind her. “What a pleasure to see you again.” 

She turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired wizard in black robes. Though his cheeks were slightly hollow, shadows around his eyes, he was still handsome and recognisable as Tom Riddle. 

“Oh, hello,” Harper said, unsure of how to address him since he wasn’t her professor anymore. “It’s a pleasure for me as well.” 

He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold and empty, even more so, it seemed, than the last time she’d seen him. “It’s been quite an eventful four years for you, has it not? Soon to be Healer, discoverer of new treatment—so many accomplishments. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded, lowering her eyes to the cobblestone street. Clearly, Riddle wasn’t losing his charm anytime soon. 

“I can’t say I’m too surprised,” he continued, “seeing as you were one of my brightest and most ambitious students.” As she raised her eyes to his, he reached out, took her hand, and brought it up, inspecting the gleaming emerald. “This is more unexpected. When’s the wedding?” 

He lowered her hand but didn’t release it. She gently tugged it out of his grasp, her fingertips enclosing the ring again. “We are planning for next summer.” 

Now she was glad to be wearing the ring, for a quick clench of desire tightened her abdomen when he’d held her hand. The corner of his mouth lifted as he watched her; he’d likely noticed. Deciding a change of topic would be best, Harper asked, “How was your sabbatical? Are you here for good, then?” 

“For now,” Riddle replied. “I suppose I’m staying in London indefinitely.”

“Not returning to Hogwarts?” she prompted, noticing he hadn’t answered her first question. 

He shook his head. “Not in the plan right now. I’d love to discuss it more, if you wouldn’t be opposed. Perhaps you’d like to join me for supper at Mariani’s?” At her hesitation, he added, “Felix surely wouldn’t mind if you caught up with an old acquaintance, would he?” 

Knowing full well Felix would mind if she went anywhere with this particular acquaintance, she simply shrugged. “It’s not that, sir. I’ve got a shift tonight at St. Mungo’s medicinal potions lab, see. In fact, tonight I’m working with another of your former students, Theobroma Tauriello. Do you remember her?” 

“Of course. She was almost as memorable as you. Almost,” he emphasised pointedly, holding her eyes captive. Again she felt his fingers close around hers, lifting her hand. 

“Perhaps next time, then,” he said before planting a soft, slow kiss on the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “Farewell, Harper. I hope I do see you again soon.”

A surge of arousal overtook her as she licked her lips. “You as well, Professor,” she answered, fighting to keep the surge at bay. 

Riddle squeezed her hand before letting go. “I’m not your professor,” he reminded her, giving her a small grin as he turned away. “To you, I am Tom.” 

“Farewell, Tom,” Harper said, frozen still. She watched him walk into the crowd. Just before his figure was overtaken by the bustle, he turned back to look at her, smiling when he saw that she was still standing there. A second later, his dark-haired head vanished from view. 

To ground herself, Harper fingered her ring once more and checked her watch. The encounter had taken up her spare time before making the journey to St. Mungo’s. Ah well, she didn’t need to spend galleons on fancy tea, anyway. She realised she’d been honest with Riddle—she was glad to see him again. 

A pang of regret passed through her chest as she headed to the Leaky Cauldron. She would’ve liked to accept his offer, though she would never betray Felix like Riddle had apparently intended her to. But her former professor had taught her so much, and she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t jump at the chance to receive his instruction, especially now at this turning point in her life. 

Alas, it would be impossible without a physical relationship no matter how loyal she vowed to be to Felix. Riddle might needle his way in like he’d done at Hogwarts. If so, she’d have to give in or reject him. No, better to keep away, though she wouldn’t mind running into him from time to time. 

Won’t Theobroma be thrilled to hear he’s back in London, she thought as she stepped into the muggle world, smiling to herself. 

~

Half-past ten: the group of wizards were due to congregate in this old hotel room in about 30 minutes. The barman, who to Tom’s distaste shared his name and always liked to point it out, had been nonplussed at the request of nine wooden chairs. If one of his Knights decided not to show up, his absence would be glaringly obvious. 

Other than the chairs, the room was bare save for a narrow bed, bedside table and lamp, a smaller table with a bottle of firewhiskey and goblets, and an old rocking chair, in which he sat now, looking down on Diagon Alley. In one hand was a goblet he suspected had been watered down. In the other, he held Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. 

Her besotted daughter had not led him astray: it had indeed been in an Albanian forest, and it had taken Tom an agonising two years to find out which. It turned out to be one of the smaller ones, the hollow tree next to a country lane. He’d gotten to know that spot rather well, as it had taken him a week to recover and move on. The ritual had been much more difficult to perform than with the diary and ring. Nevertheless, he had returned to normal with one more horcrux under his belt. 

He ran his fingers over the eagle made of silver and pearls and blue gemstone in the center. Perhaps he should wait a bit to make another horcrux. Most likely, he wouldn’t have a say in the matter, since it would take time to track down another of the founders’ treasures worthy of his soul. 

He tucked the diadem into his robes. He had yet to think of a safe place for that and the diary. The idea with the cave kept cropping up, but that was to be reserved for the locket. That was the one he had to get his hands on next. 

Quarter to eleven—they were due in fifteen minutes. Tom was curious to see if the minions kept their word. The important ones, Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy, would. The rest were disposable, though Murdoch’s growing influence in the Floo Network would simplify affairs as well. 

Tom took a sip of firewhiskey and looked around the room. His plan for the first half of the evening had been to have Harper Messier here or somewhere else with a bed, flat on her back. However, his attempt had been half-hearted at best, since he knew she wouldn’t betray her beloved Felix so early into their engagement. No matter; the time would come, after years of putting up with Murdoch’s idiotic behavior and a couple of brats, when Harper would come crawling to him. He smiled at the image, picturing the hesitant lust in her eyes that afternoon. He’d have her again eventually. 

Ten to eleven—no time for sexual fantasy. No time for drinking, either. He set the goblet down and stood, smoothing out his robes. To bide time, he stood in front of the window and gazed down at the pub-goers, dressed to impress, acting like little puppets on marionette strings. From the third floor, they were small like ants, which was essentially what they were. 

CRACK! The first arrivals were, as expected, the wonderfully eager Black cousins. “Ah, Cygnus and Orion,” he said, approaching them and shaking their hands. “It is delightful to see you again.” 

“You as well, my Lord,” they chorused, bringing a brief grin to Tom’s face. 

“Please help yourself to some firewhiskey,” he offered, gesturing to the small wooden table. “And take a seat.” 

Once the Blacks sat down, more cracking filled the air as wizards Apparated into the room left and right. His old Hogwarts mates, Lestrange, Avery, and Mulciber, greeted him first, followed by Yaxley, Rosier, and Grisham. 

Murdoch arrived a few minutes later, of course. The git would be late to his own funeral. “My Lord!” he cried enthusiastically, waltzing right up to Tom, ignoring everyone else. “I have eagerly awaited your return.” 

“Good to hear, Felix. Congratulations on your engagement. I can think of no better witch for you to spend your life with.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Murdoch replied, unsure whether Tom was goading him or not. “I look forward to being married.” 

“Don’t, it’s no walk in the garden,” advised Yaxley before draining his goblet. Tom heard Yaxley had taken a sixteen-year-old bride from one of those war-ravaged countries, looking for money and English citizenship. Merlin knew what Yaxley expected to gain from the union, but he clearly wasn’t getting it. 

Tom let the wizards chat and refill their goblets before calling them to attention. “Please take your seats, gentlemen.” With satisfaction, he noted that they assumed more or less the same formation as the final meeting before he left for Albania. 

He remained standing for another minute, absorbing their mixed admiration and anticipation. An empty chair sat between Yaxley and Rosier: Delmont had not shown up. Tom would find his whereabouts and take care of him later. 

“Gentlemen, my loyal Knights, it is a pleasure,” he said. “I have returned even stronger and willing to ascend only the most noble and prosperous to the top of the hierarchy. From what I’ve heard thus far, you are all doing a fine job of carrying out your duty to the superior pureblood race. Now that I know who all is here, please raise your hoods over your heads.” 

Only Grisham’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. The rest diligently pulled up their hoods until their faces were in shadow. Hurriedly, he followed suit. 

“Excellent. This is how we must operate from now on: in shadow. Under Grindelwald’s Regime, we were allowed to make open moves. The current administration will not grant us that right—but that does  _ not _ mean we will be any less victorious in restoring proper order.” 

He took a seat at the head of the group and raised his goblet. “Remember, gentlemen: magic is might.” 

“Magic is might,” they echoed, raising their own goblets. 

Under his own hood, Tom let the corner of his lips turn up for half a second behind his goblet. With these powerful wizards still under his influence to this degree, he would only grow stronger. The Ministry wouldn’t stop the force of Lord Voldemort. Nor would Dumbledore, nor would anyone else, nor anything else, not even Death itself. 

~

_ The End _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!<3 Hats off to you for getting all the way here! :)


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